9 


iiosron  tn.^iii^-i^y^  lE^xMi^^ 


'wwiaf^ix 


ijt.y^dA^^^'--^ 


%i$si  llarcom's;  llBoofes, 


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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 

Boston  and  New  York. 


LUCY  LARCOM 
LIFE,   LETTERS,  AND   DIARY 


BY 


DANIEL  DULANY  ADDISON 


BOSTON  AND    NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

1S95 


C^  (^   t^J  ^ 


Copyright,  1894, 
Bt  DANIEL  DULANT  ADDISON. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Hougliton  &  Co. 


PKEFACE. 

It  was  tlie  purpose  of  Miss  Larcom  to  write  a 
sequel  to  lier  book,  "  A  New  England  Girlhood," 
in  whicli  she  intended  to  give  some  account  of  her 
life  in  the  log-cabins  on  the  Western  prairies  as  a 
pioneer  and  schoolmistress,  and  her  experiences  as 
a  teacher  in  Wheaton  Seminary,  and  as  an  editor 
and  literary  woman.  She  also  wished  to  trace  the 
growth  of  her  religious  ideas  by  showing  the  pro- 
cess through  which  she  was  led  to  undergo  changes 
that  finally  made  her  accept  a  less  rigorous  the- 
ology than  the  one  in  which  she  had  been  reared. 
Her  fascinating  style,  with  its  wealth  of  reminis- 
cence and  interesting  detail,  would  have  character- 
ized her  later  book,  as  it  did  the  former,  but  she 
died  before  beginning  it,  and  American  literature 
has  lost  a  valuable  record  of  a  woman's  life.  A 
keen  observer,  her  contact  with  famous  men  and 
women  gave  her  an  opportunity  for  a  large  know- 
ledge of  persons  and  events ;  deeply  interested  in 
the  questions  of  the  day,  her  comments  would  have 
been  just  and  luminous ;  and  her  sensitiveness  to 
impressions  was  such  that  the  varied  influences 
upon  her  life  would  have  been  most  attractively 


IV  PREFACE. 

presented.  Slie  was  deeply  spiritual,  and  the 
account  of  her  religious  experiences  would  have 
supplemented  the  moral  power  of  her  published 
works ;  but  she  was  not  permitted  to  give  us,  in 
autobiographical  form,  the  rich  fruits  of  a  well- 
spent  life. 

The  only  preparation  she  had  made  for  this  book 
was  a  few  notes  suggesting  a  title  and  headings  of 
the  chapters.  She  proposed  naming  it,  "  Hither- 
ward:  A  Life-Path  Retraced."  The  suggestions 
for  chapters  indicate  the  subjects  that  she  intended 
to  treat,  —  "  The  Charm  of  Elsewhere  ;  "  "  Over 
the  Prairies  ;  "  "  Log-Cabin  Experiences ;  "  "A 
Pioneer  Schoolmistress  ; "  "  Teacher  and  Stu- 
dent ;  "  Back  to  the  Bay  State  ; "  "  Undercur- 
rents ; "  "  Beneath  Norton  Elms  ;  "  "  During  the 
War  ;"  "  With  '  Our  Young  Folks ; '"  "  Success- 
ful Failures ;  "  and  "  Going  On." 

After  her  death,  her  papers  came  into  my  pos- 
session. An  examination  showed  that  there  was 
material  enough  in  her  letters  and  diary  to  pre- 
serve still  some  record  of  her  later  life,  and  pos- 
sibly to  continue  the  narrative  which  she  had  given 
in  "  A  New  England  Girlhood." 

It  will  be  noticed  that  some  years  are  treated 
more  at  length  than  others,  the  reason  for  this 
being  that  more  data  have  been  accessible  for  those 
periods ;  and  also,  as  is  the  case  with  most  lives, 


PREFACE.  V 

there  were  epochs  of  intenser  emotion,  more  last- 
ing experiences,  and  deeper  friendships,  the  account 
of  which  is  of  greater  vakie  to  the  general  reader 
than  the  more  commonplace  incidents  of  her  career. 

Her  life  was  one  of  thought,  not  of  action.  In 
their  outward  movement,  her  days  flowed  on  very 
smoothly.  She  had  no  remarkable  adventures ; 
but  she  had  a  constant  succession  of  mental  vicis- 
situdes, which  are  often  more  dramatic  and  real 
than  the  outward  events  of  even  a  varied  life.  In 
her  loves  and  sympathies,  in  her  philosophy  of 
living  and  her  creed,  in  her  literary  labors, — her 
poetry  and  her  prose,  —  in  her  studies  of  man, 
nature,  and  God,  she  revealed  a  mind  continually 
venturing  into  the  known  and  unknown,  and  bring- 
ing back  trophies  of  struggles  and  victories,  of 
doubts  and  beliefs,  of  despair  and  faith.  My  aim 
has  been  to  present  the  character  of  a  New  Eng- 
land woman,  as  it  was  thus  moulded  by  the  intel- 
lectual and  moral  forces  of  American  living  for  the 
last  fifty  years;  and  to  show  how  she  absorbed 
the  best  from  all  sides,  and  responded  to  the  high- 
est influences. 

There  are  passages  in  her  diaries  that  remind 
one  of  Pascal's  "  Thoughts,"  for  their  frankness 
and  spiritual  depth;  there  are  others  that  recall 
Amiel's  Journal,  with  its  record  of  emotions  and 
longings  after  light.     If  such  a  singularly  trans- 


Vi  PREFACE. 

parent  and  pure  life  had  preserved  for  us  its  inner 
history,  it  would  he  more  valuable  than  any  record 
of  mere  outvvaixl  events.  Some  such  inner  history 
I  have  attempted  to  give,  by  making  selections 
from  her  journal  and  letters ;  and  if,  at  times,  I 
have  allowed  her  inmost  thoughts  and  motives  to 
be  disclosed,  it  has  been  with  the  feeling  that  such 
frankness  would  be  helpful  in  portraying  a  soul 
stirred  with  love  for  the  beautiful,  a  heart  loving 
humanity,  a  spirit  with  the  passion  for  God  in  it. 
She  once  said,  "  I  am  willing  to  make  any  part  of 
my  life  public,  if  it  will  help  others." 

One  soon  sees  that  the  religious  element  pre- 
dominated in  her  character.  From  her  earliest 
years,  these  questions  of  the  soul's  relation  to  man, 
to  nature,  and  to  God  were  uppermost  in  her 
mind.  She  was  impelled  to  master  them ;  and  as 
Jacob  wrestled  with  the  angel,  she  could  not  let 
Life  go  until  she  had  received  from  it  a  blessing. 
She  found  her  rest  and  comfort  in  a  Christianity 
which  had  its  centre  in  no  theory  or  dogma,  no 
ecclesiastical  system,  but  in  the  person  of  Jesus. 
For  Him  she  had  the  most  loyal  love.  He  satisfied 
her  soul ;  He  interpreted  life  for  her ;  He  gave  her 
the  inspiration  for  her  work ;  and  with  this  belief, 
she  went  forth  to  live  and  to  die,  having  the  hope 
and  confidence  of  a  larger  life  beyond. 

She  was  a  prophetess  to  her  generation,  singing 


PREFACE.  vil 

the  songs  of  a  newer  faith,  and  breathing  forth  in 
hymns  and  lyrics,  and  even  homely  ballads,  her 
belief  in  God  and  immortality.  Her  two  books, 
"  As  It  Is  in  Heaven  "  and  "  The  Unseen  Friend," 
written  in  the  last  years  of  her  life,  when  she  had 
felt  the  presence  of  an  invisible  Power,  and  had 
caught  glimpses  of  the  spiritual  world  through 
the  intimations  of  happiness  given  her  in  this  life, 
are  messages  to  human  souls,  that  come  with  au- 
thority, and  mark  her  as  a  strong  spiritual  force  in 
our  American  Christianity.  She  will  be  known,  I 
feel,  not  only  as  a  woman  with  the  most  delicate 
perceptions  of  the  sweetness  of  truth,  and  an  appre- 
ciation of  its  poetry,  but  as  one  who  could  grasp 
the  eternal  facts  out  of  the  infinite,  and  clothe 
them  with  such  beauty  of  imagery,  and  softness 
of  music,  that  other  lives  could  receive  from  her 
a  blessing. 

I  must  make  public  acknowledgment  to  those 
who  have  willingly  rendered  me  assistance,  —  to 
Miss  Lucy  Larcom  Spaulding  (now  Mrs.  Clark), 
who  gave  me  the  privilege  of  using  the  rich  ma- 
terial her  aunt  had  left  in  her  guardian  sliip ;  to 
Mrs.  James  Guild,  who  furnished  me  with  facts  of 
great  interest ;  to  Mrs.  I.  W.  Baker,  the  sister  of 
Miss  Larcom,  whose  advice  has  proved  most  valu- 
able ;  to  Miss  Susan  Hayes  Ward,  who  put  at  my 


•  •  • 


Vlil  PREFACE. 

disposal  the  material  used  in  the  Memorial  Number 
of  "  The  Rushlight,"  the  magazine  of  Wheaton 
Seminary  ;  to  Mr.  S.  T.  Piekard,  for  permitting 
me  to  use  some  of  Mr.  Whittier's  letters ;  to  the 
Rev.  Arthur  Brooks,  D.  D.,  who  consented  to  my 
using  the  letters  of  his  brother,  Bishop  Brooks; 
to  Prof.  George  E.  Woodberry,  whose  sympathy 
and  suggestions  have  been  of  the  greatest  service 
to  me ;  and  to  all  who  have  loaned  the  letters 
that  so  clearly  illustrate  the  richness  of  Miss 
Larcom's  personality. 

DANIEL  DULANY  ADDISON. 
Beverly,  Mass.,  June  19, 1894. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE  PAOB 

I.  Eaklt  Days.    1824-1846 1 

II.   In  Illinois.     1846-1852 21 

III.  Life  at  Norton.     1853-1859 44 

IV.  Reflections  of  a  Teacher        ....  69 
V.   The  Beginning  of  the  War        ....  83 

VI.   Intellectual  Experiences         ....  118 

VII.   Letters  and  Work.     1861-1868    .        .        .        .148 

Vni.   Writings  and  Letters.     1868-1880  ...  172 

IX.   Religious  Changes.     1881-1884     .        .        .        .200 

X.  Undercurrents.    1884-1889        ....  222 

XI.  Membership  in  the  Episcopal  Church       .        .  242 

XII.  Last  Years 257 

Index 291 


LUCY  LARCOM. 

CHAPTER  I. 

EAELT   DAYS. 

1824-1846. 

Lucy  Larcom  was  born  on  March  5,  1824,  in 
the  old  seaside  town  of  Beverly,  Massachusetts. 
She  was  next  to  the  youngest  in  a  family  of  seven 
sisters  and  two  brothers.  Her  father,  Benjamin 
Larcom,  a  retired  shipmaster  who  became  a  shop- 
keeper selling  West  India  goods,  was  a  man  of 
strong  natural  ability,  and  her  mother,  Lois  Bar- 
rett, "  with  bright  blue  eyes  and  soft  dark  curling 
hair,  which  she  kept  pinned  up  under  her  white 
lace  cap,"  was  known  for  her  sweetness.  The 
Larcoms  had  lived  for  generations  on  the  borders 
of  the  sea.  Mordecai  Larcom,  born  1629,  ap- 
peared in  Ipswich  in  1655,  and  soon  after  moved 
to  Beverly,  where  he  obtained  a  grant  of  land. 
His  son,  Cornelius  Larcom,  born  1658,  purchased 
a  place  on  the  coast,  in  what  is  known  as  Beverly 
Farms.  David  Larcom  was  born  1701,  and  his 
son,  Jonathan,  born  1742,  was  the  grandfather  of 
Miss  Larcom.  The  qualities  of  energy  and  self- 
reliance  that  come  from  the  cultivation  of  Essex 
County  soil   and  the  winning  of    a  livelihood    as 


2  LUCY    LARCOM. 

trader  and  sailor,  were  apparent  in  the  branch  of 
the  family  that  lived  in  Wallace  Lane,  —  one  of 
the  by-streets  of  the  quaint  village,  that  led  in  one 
direction  throngh  the  fields  to  Bass  River,  "  run- 
ning A\'ith  its  tidal  water  from  inland  hills,"  and  in 
the  other  across  the  main  street  to  the  harbor,  with 
its  fishing  schooners  and  glimpses  of  the  sea. 

Her  sensitive  nature  quickly  responded  to  the 
free  surroundings  of  her  childhood.  The  open 
fields  with  the  wild  flowers  and  granite  ledges 
covered  with  vines,  and  the  sandy  beaches  of  the 
harbor,  and  the  village  streets  with  their  quiet  pic- 
turesque life,  formed  her  playground.  The  little 
daily  events  happening  around  her  were  interest- 
ing :  the  stage-coach  rattling  down  Cabot  Street ; 
the  arrival  of  a  ship  returning  from  a  distant  voy- 
age ;  the  stately  equipage  driven  from  the  doorway 
of  Colonel  Thorndike's  house  ;  the  Sunday  services 
in  the  meeting-house ;  the  companionship  of  other 
children,  and  the  charm  of  her  simple  home  life. 
These  experiences  are  graphically  recorded  in  "  A 
New  England  Girlhood,"  where  she  testifies  to  her 
love  for  her  native  town,  "  There  is  something  in 
the  place  where  we  were  born  that  holds  us  always 
by  the  heart-strings.  A  town  that  has  a  great 
deal  of  country  in  it,  one  that  is  rich  in  beautiful 
scenery  and  ancestral  associations,  is  almost  like  a 
living  being,  with  a  body  and  a  soul.  We  speak 
of  such  a  town  as  of  a  mother,  and  think  of  our- 
selves as  her  sons  and  daughters.  So  we  felt 
about  our  dear  native  town  of  Beverly." 


EAELY    DAYS.  3 

In  her  poems  there  are  numerous  references  to 
the  town :  — 

"  Steady  we  '11  scud  by  the  Cape  Ann  shore, 
Then  back  to  the  Beverly  Bells  once  more. 

The  Beverly  Bells 
Ring  to  the  tide  as  it  ebbs  and  swells." 

In  another  place  she  says  :  — 

"  The  gleam  of 
Thacher's  Isle,  twin-beaconed,  winking  back 
To  twinkling  sister-eyes  of  Baker's  Isle." 

Her  childhood  was  a  period  which  she  always 
looked  back  upon  with  fondness,  for  the  deep  im- 
pressions made  upon  her  mind  never  were  obliter- 
ated.  The  continued  possession  of  these  happy 
remembrances  as  she  incorporated  them  into  her 
womanhood,  is  shown  by  the  way  she  entered  into 
the  lives  of  other  children,  whether  in  compiling 
a  book  of  poems,  like  "  Child  Life,"  known  where- 
ever  there  are  nurseries,  or  in  writing  her  own 
book,  "  Childhood  Songs,"  or  in  some  of  her  many 
sketches  in  "  Our  Young  Folks,"  "  St.  Nicholas," 
or  the  "  Youth's  Companion."  She  knew  by  an 
unerring  instinct  what  children  were  thinking 
about,  and  how  to  interest  them.  She  always  took 
delight  in  the  little  rivulets  in  the  fields,  or  the 
brown  thrush  singing  from  the  tree,  or  the  pussy- 
clover  running  wild,  and  eagerly  watched  for  the 
red-letter  days  of  children,  the  anniversaries  and 
birthdays.  She  had  happy  memories  of  play  in  the 
old  roomy  barn,  and  of  the  improvised  swing  hung 
from  the  rafters.     She  recalled  the  fairy-tales  and 


4  LUCY    LAECOM. 

wonderful  stories  to  which  she  listened  with  wide 
open  eyes ;  the  reflection  of  her  face  in  the  bur- 
nished brass  of  the  tongs ;  and  her  child's  night- 
thoughts  when  she  began  to  feel  that  there  were 
mysteries  around  her,  and  to  remember  that  the 
stars  were  shining  when  she  was  tucked  in  bed. 

Lucy  Larcom's  book-learning  began  very  early. 
It  seems  almost  incredible  that  she  should  have 
been  able  to  read  at  two  and  a  half  years  of  age, 
but  such  is  the  general  testimony  of  her  family. 
She  used  to  sit  by  the  side  of  her  old  Aunt 
Stanley,  and  thread  needles  for  her,  listening  to 
the  songs  and  stories  that  the  old  lady  told ;  and 
Aunt  Hannah,  in  the  school  held  in  her  kitchen, 
where  she  often  let  the  children  taste  the  good 
things  that  were  cooking,  managed  not  only  to 
keep  her  out  of  mischief,  by  her  "  pudding-stick  " 
ferule,  or  by  rapping  her  on  the  head  with  a 
thimble,  but  taught  her  the  "  a,  b,  abs,"  and  parts 
of  the  Psalms  and  Epistles. 

The  strongest  influence  in  her  development  was 
that  of  her  sister  Emeline,  who  inspired  her  with 
love  for  knowledge,  and  instilled  in  her  the  highest 
ideals  of  girlhood.  This  sister  supplied  her,  as  she 
grew  older,  with  books,  and  guided  her  reading. 
Referring  to  this,  she  once  said  :  — 

"  I  wish  to  give  due  credit  to  my  earliest  edu- 
cators, —  those  time  -  stained,  thumb  -  worn  books, 
that  made  me  aware  of  living  in  a  world  of  natural 
grandeur,  of  lofty  visions,  of  heroic  achievements, 
of  human  faithfuhiess,  and  sacrifice.     I  always  fee] 


EARLY    BAYS.  5 

like  entering  a  protest  when  I  hear  people  say  that 
there  was  very  little  for  children  to  read  fifty  years 
ago.  There  was  very  little  of  the  cake  and  con- 
fectionery style  of  literatiu'e,  which  is  so  abundant 
now  ;  but  we  had  the  genuine  thing,  —  solid  food, 
in  small  quantities,  to  suit  our  capacity,  —  and  I 
think  we  were  better  off  for  not  having  too  much 
of  the  lighter  sort.     What  we  had  '  stayed  by.'  " 

The  books  that  she  read  were  "  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress," "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  "  Gulliver's  Travels," 
Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels  ;  and  in  poetry,  Spenser, 
Southey,  Wordsworth,  and  Coleridge.  She  knew 
these  volumes  almost  by  heart. 

Lucy's  first  love  for  poetry  was  fostered  by  the 
hymns  she  used  to  read  in  church,  during  sermon 
time,  when  the  minister  from  his  lofty  pulpit 
entered  upon  a  series  of  "finallys,"  which  did  not 
seem  to  be  meant  for  her.  Her  fondness  for 
hymns  was  so  great  that  at  one  time  she  learned  a 
hundred.  The  rhythm  of  the  musical  accompani- 
ment and  the  flow  of  the  words  taught  her  the 
measured  feet  of  verse  before  she  ever  heard  of  an 
iambus  or  a  choriambus.  Finding  that  her  own 
thoughts  naturally  exj^ressed  themselves  in  rhyme, 
she  used  frequently  to  w^rite  little  verses,  and  stuff 
them  down  the  crack  in  the  floor  of  the  attic.  The 
first  poem  that  she  read  to  the  family  was  long 
remembered  by  them,  as,  wriggling  with  embarrass- 
ment, she  sat  on  a  stool.  Referring  to  her  poetry 
at  this  time,  she  says,  "  I  wrote  little  verses,  to  be 
sure,  but  that  was  nothing ;  they  just  grew.     They 


6  LUCY    LARCOM. 

were  tlie  same  as  breathing  or  singing.  I  could 
not  help  writing  them.  They  seemed  to  fly  into 
my  mind  like  birds  going  with  a  carol  through  the 
air. 

There  is  an  incident  worth  repeating,  that  illus- 
trates her  sweetness  and  thoughtfulness  of  others. 
When  her  father  died,  she  tried  to  comfort  her 
mother :  "  1  felt  like  preaching  to  her,  but  I  was 
too  small  a  child  to  do  that ;  so  I  did  the  next  best 
thing  I  could  think  of,  —  I  sang  hymns,  as  if  sing- 
ing to  myself,  while  I  meant  them  for  her." 

These  happy  days  in  the  country  village  came 
to  an  end  in  the  year  1835,  when  necessity  forced 
Mrs.  Larconi,  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  to 
seek  a  home  in  the  manufacturing  community  of 
Lowell,  where  there  were  more  opportunities  for 
the  various  members  of  her  family  to  assist  in  the 
general  maintenance  of  the  home. 

In  Lowell,  there  were  corporation  boarding- 
houses  for  the  operatives,  requiring  respectable 
matrons  as  housekeepers,  and  positions  in  the  mills 
offered  a  means  of  livelihood  to  young  girls.  At- 
tracted by  these  inducements,  many  New  England 
families  left  their  homes,  in  the  mountains  of  New 
Hampshire  and  along  the  seacoast,  and  went  to 
Lowell.  The  class  of  the  employees  in  the  mills 
was  consequently  different  from  the  ordinary  fac- 
tory hand  of  to-day.  Girls  of  education  and  refine- 
ment, who  had  no  idea  of  remaining  in  a  mill  all 
their  lives,  worked  in  them  for  some  years  with 
the  object,  often,  of  helping  to  send  a  brother  to 


EARLY    DAYS.  7 

college  or  making  money  enough  to  continue  their 
education,  or  to  aid  dear  ones  who  had  been  left 
suddenly  without  support :  — 

"  Not  always  to  be  here  among'  the  looms,  — 
Scarcely  a  girl  she  knew  expected  that ; 
Means  to  one  end,  their  labor  was,  — to  put 
Gold  nest-eggs  in  the  bank,  or  to  redeem 
A  mortgaged  homestead,  or  to  pay  the  way 
Through  classic  years  at  some  academy  ; 
More  commonly  to  lay  a  dowry  by 
For  f  utm-e  housekeeping."  ^ 

The  intention  of  Mr.  Francis  Cabot  Lowell  and 
Mr.  Nathan  Appleton,  when  they  conceived  the 
idea  of  establishing  the  mills,  was  to  provide  condi- 
tions of  living  for  operatives,  as  different  as  possi- 
ble from  the  Old  World  ideals  of  factory  labor. 
They  wisely  decided  to  regard  the  mental  and  re- 
ligious education  of  the  girls  as  of  first  importance, 
and  those  who  followed  these  plans  aimed  to  secure 
young  women  of  intelligence  from  the  surrounding 
towns,  and  stimulate  them  to  seek  improvement  in 
their  leisure  hours. 

Besides  the  free  Grammar  School  there  were  in- 
numerable night  schools  ;  and  most  of  the  churches 
provided,  by  means  of  "  Social  Circles,"  opportuni- 
ties for  improvement.  So  in  Lowell  there  was  a 
wide-awake  set  of  girls  working  for  their  daily 
bread,  with  a  true  idea  of  the  dignity  of  labor,  and 
with  the  determination  to  make  the  most  of  them- 
selves. They  reasoned  thus,  as  Miss  Larcom  ex- 
pressed it :  "  That  the  manufacture  of  cloth  should, 

1  An  Idyl  of  Work,  p.  34. 


8  LUCY    LABCOM. 

as  a  branch  of  feminine  industry,  ever  have  suf- 
fered a  shadow  of  discredit,  will  doubtless  appear 
to  future  generations  a  most  ridiculous  barbarism. 
To  prepare  the  clothing  of  the  world  seems  to  have 
been  regarded  as  womanly  work  in  all  ages.  The 
spindle  and  the  distaff,  the  picturesque  accompani- 
ments of  many  an  ancient  legend  —  of  Penelope,  of 
Lucretia,  of  the  Fatal  Sisters  themselves  —  have,  to 
be  sure,  changed  somewhat  in  their  modern  adapta- 
tion to  the  machinery  which  robes  the  human  mil- 
lions ;  but  they  are,  in  effect,  the  same  instruments, 
used  to  supply  the  same  need,  at  whatever  period 
of  the  world's  history." 

A  few  facts  will  show  the  character  of  these 
girls.  One  of  the  ministers  was  asked  how  many 
teachers  he  thought  he  could  furnish  from  among 
the  working-girls.  He  replied,  "  About  five  hun- 
dred." A  lecturer  in  the  Lowell  Lyceum  stated 
that  four  fifths  of  his  audience  were  factory  girls, 
that  when  he  entered  the  hall  most  of  the  girls 
were  reading  from  books,  and  when  he  began  his 
lecture  every  one  seemed  to  be  taking  notes. 
Charles  Dickens,  after  his  visit  to  Lowell  in  1842, 
wrote :  "  I  solemnly  declare  that  from  all  the  crowd 
I  saw  in  the  different  factories,  I  cannot  recall  one 
face  that  gave  me  a  painful  impression ;  not  one 
young  girl  whom,  assuming  it  to  be  a  matter  of  ne- 
cessity that  she  should  gain  her  daily  bread  by  the 
labor  of  her  hands,  I  would  have  removed  if  I  had 
the  power." 

Mrs.  Larcom  kept  a  boarding-house  for  the  oper- 


EARLY    DAYS.  9 

atives,  and  Lucy  was  thrown  in  close  association 
with  these  strong  young  women.  She  had  access 
to  the  little  accumulation  of  books  that  one  of  them 
had  made,  —  Maria  Edgeworth's  "  Helen,"  Thomas 
\  Kempis,  Bunyan's  "  Holy  War,"  Locke  "  On 
the  Understanding,"  and  "  Paradise  Lost."  This 
formed  good  reading  for  a  girl  of  ten. 

Lucy's  sister  Emeline  started  in  the  boarding- 
house  two  or  three  little  fortnightly  papers,  to 
which  the  girls  contributed.  Each  ran  a  troubled 
existence  of  a  few  months,  and  then  gave  place  to 
its  successor,  bearing  a  new  name.  "  The  Casket," 
for  a  time,  held  their  jewels  of  thought ;  then  "  The 
Bouquet "  gathered  their  full-blown  ideas  into  a 
more  pretentious  collection.  The  most  permanent 
of  these  literary  jjroductions  was  one  that  started 
with  the  intention  of  being  very  profound,  —  it  was 
called  "  The  Diving  Bell."  The  significance  of  the 
name  was  carefully  set  forth  in  the  first  number :  — 

"  Our  Diving  Bell  shall  deep  descend, 
And  bring  from  the  immortal  mind 
Thoughts  that  to  improve  us  tend. 
Of  each  variety  and  kind." 

Lucy  soon  became  a  poetical  contributor ;  and  when 
the  paper  was  read,  and  the  guessing  as  to  the 
author  of  each  piece  began  —  for  they  were  anony- 
mous —  the  other  girls  were  soon  able  to  tell  her 
work  by  its  music  and  thought.  Among  the  yellow 
and  worm-eaten  pages  of  the  once  popular  "  Diving 
Bell,"  we  find  the  following  specimen  of  her  earli- 
est poetry  :  — 


10  LUCY   LABCOM. 

"  I  sit  at  my  window  and  gaze 
At  the  scenery  lovely  around, 
On  the  water,  the  grass,  and  the  trees, 

And  I  hear  the  brook's  murmuring  sound. 

"  The  bird  warbles  forth  his  soft  lays. 

And  I  smell  the  sweet  fragrance  of  flowers, 
I  hear  the  low  hum  of  the  bees. 
As  they  busily  pass  the  long  hours. 

"  These  pleasures  were  given  to  man 
To  bring  him  more  near  to  his  God, 
Then  let  me  praise  God  all  I  can. 
Until  I  am  laid  'neath  the  sod." 

From  the  interest  excited  by  these  little  papers, 
the  desire  of  the  girls  became  strong  for  more 
dignified  literary  expression  ;  and  by  the  advice 
and  assistance  of  the  Rev.  Abel  C.  Thomas,  of  the 
Universalist  Clmrch,  the  "  Lowell  Offering  "  was 
started  in  October,  1840,  and  the  "  Operative's 
Magazine  "  originated  in  the  Literary  Society  of 
the  First  Congregational  Church.  These  two  mag- 
azines were  united,  in  1842,  in  the  "  Lowell  Offer- 
ing." The  editors  of  the  "  Offering,"  Miss  Hariett 
Farley  and  Miss  Hariot  Curtiss,  factory  girls,  were 
women  of  superior  culture  and  versatility,  and  made 
the  magazine  a  unique  experiment  in  our  litera- 
ture. In  its  pages  were  clever  sketches  of  home 
life,  humorous  and  pathetic  tales,  charming  fairy 
stories,  and  poems.  Its  contributors,  like  the  ed- 
itors, were  mill-girls.  It  was  successful  for  five 
years,  at  one  time  having  a  subscription  list  as  high 
as  four  thousand,  which  the  girls  tried  to  increase  by 
traveling  for  it,  as  agents.    This  periodical  attracted 


EARLY    DAYS.  11 

wide  attention  by  reason  of  its  unusual  origin.  Se- 
lections were  made  from  it,  and  published  in  Lon- 
don, in  1849,  called,  "  Mind  Among  the  Spindles  ; " 
and  a  gentleman  attending  the  literary  lectures,  in 
Paris,  of  Philarete  Chasles,  was  surprised  to  hear 
one  in  which  the  significance  and  merit  of  the 
"  Lowell  Offering  "  was  the  sole  theme.  Our  young 
author  contributed  to  the  "  Offering,"  over  the  sig- 
natures "  Rotha,"  or  "  L.  L.,"  a  number  of  poems 
and  short  prose  articles,  proving  herself  to  be  of 
sufficient  ability  to  stand  as  a  typical  Lowell  fac- 
tory girl. 

The  principle  of  the  interest  of  manufacturers 
in  the  lives  of  their  operatives  was  illustrated  in 
Lowell,  though  it  was  not  carried  out  always  as 
intelligently  as  it  should  have  been.  Children 
were  allowed  to  work  too  young.  Lucy  began  to 
change  the  bobbins  on  the  spinning  frames  at  eleven 
years  of  age,  and  the  hours  of  work  were  sometimes 
from  five  in  the  morning  to  seven  at  night.  But 
the  day  passed  pleasantly  for  her,  the  bobbins  hav- 
ing to  be  changed  only  every  three  quarters  of  an 
hour;  and  the  interval  between  these  periods  of 
work  was  occupied  by  conversation  with  the  girls 
in  the  same  room,  or  by  sitting  in  the  window  over- 
lookinof  the  river.  On  the  sides  of  one  of  these 
windows  she  had  pasted  newspaper  clippings,  con- 
taining favorite  poems,  wliich  she  committed  to 
memory  when  she  sat  in  this  "  poet's  corner." 

During  these  years  of  mill-work  she  formed  some 
of  the  ruling  ideas  of  her  life,  those  that  we  can 


12  LUCY   LAECOM. 

see  influencing  her  later  thouglits,  in  her  poetry 
and  prose,  and,  best  of  all,  her  living.  Her  sym- 
}>athy  for  honest  Industry,  without  any  regard  for 
its  fictitious  position  in  so-called  "society,"  was 
developed  by  her  acquaintance  with  those  earnest 
girls  who  were  struggling  for  their  own  support 
and  education.  Her  capacity  for  friendship  was 
continually  tested  ;  she  opened  her  nature  to  the 
influence  of  the  other  lives  around  her. 

The  questions  in  relation  to  human  life  and  its 
meaning  became  part  of  her  deepest  interests.  In 
private  conversations  with  her  companions.  In  the 
meetings  at  the  churches,  and  In  her  own  medita- 
tions, these  thoughts  struggled  for  a  hearing :  — 

"  Oh,  what  questionings 
Of  fate,  and  freedom,  and  how  evil  came. 
And  what  death  is,  and  what  the  life  to  come,  — 
Passed  to  and  fro  among  these  girls  !  "  -^ 

The  answers  she  gave  were  the  truest.  Her  thought 
instinctively  turned  to  the  Invisible  Power  of  the 
Universe,  not  solely  as  an  explanation  of  things  as 
they  exist,  or  as  a  philosophical  postulate,  but  as  a 
Sj)irit  whose  presence  could  be  felt  in  nature.  In 
persons,  and  in  her  own  heart.  In  other  words,  a 
love  for  God  as  a  Being  of  Love  began  to  take 
possession  of  her  ;  it  seized  upon  her  at  times  like 
the  rushing  inspiration  of  the  prophets  ;  her  trust 
was  what  Is  spoken  of  in  theology  as  an  experi- 
mental knowledge.  Her  early  training  by  Puritan 
methods  in  the  thought  of  a  Sovereign  Lord,  deeply 

1  An  Idyl  of  Work,  p.  69. 


EARLY    DAYS.  13 

affected  her,  yet  she  seems  to  have  rediscovered 
God  for  herself,  in  the  beauty  that  her  poet's  eye 
revealed  to  her  —  beauties  of  river  and  sea  and 
sky,  of  flowers  rejoicing  in  their  color  and  per- 
fume, and  of  human  sympathies.  Welling  up  in 
her  own  soul,  she  felt  the  waters  troubled  by  the 
angel's  touch,  and  was  confident  of  God. 

With  this  faith  as  a  guide,  the  answers  to  other 
questions  became  plain.  Life  itself  was  a  gift 
which  must  be  used  in  His  service  ;  no  evil  thought 
or  purpose  should  be  allowed  to  enter  and  interfere 
with  the  soul's  growth ;  duties  were  the  natural 
outlets  of  the  soul ;  through  them  the  soul  found 
its  happiness.  When  she  thought  of  death,  there 
was  only  one  logical  way  of  looking  at  it :  as  a 
transition  into  a  fidler  life,  where  the  immortal 
spirits  of  men  could  draw  nearer  to  each  other  and 
to  God.  She  seems  never,  from  the  very  first,  to 
have  had  any  doubts  as  to  what  the  end  of  life 
meant.  There  was  always  the  portal  ready  to  open 
into  the  richer  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 

The  churches  in  Lowell  stimulated  her  religious 
thought.  At  thirteen  years  of  age,  she  stood  up 
before  her  beloved  minister,  Dr.  Amos  Blanchard, 
and  professed  her  belief  in  the  Christian  religion, 
and  for  many  years  found  refreshment  in  the  Sun- 
day services.  But  as  she  grew  older,  she  found 
many  of  the  doctrines  of  Calvinistic  Orthodoxy  dif- 
ficidt  for  her  to  accept,  and  she  regretted  the  step 
she  had  taken.  The  worship  was  not  always  help- 
ful to  her,  especially  the  long  prayer  :  — 


14  LUCY    LARCOM. 

"  That  long  prayer 
Was  like  a  toilsome  journey  round  the  world, 
By  Cathay  and  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon, 
To  come  at  our  own  door-stone,  where  He  stood 
Waiting  to  speak  to  us,  the  Father  dear, 
Who  is  not  far  from  any  one  of  us."  ^ 

She  admired  the  picturesque  Episcopal  church  of 
St.  Ann's,  with  its  vine-wreathed  stone  walls,  "  an 
oasis  amid  the  city's  dust."  The  Church  for  which 
this  venerable  edifice  stood  was  to  be  her  fhial  re- 
ligious home,  and  in  its  stately  services  and  sacred 
rites  she  was  to  find  the  spiritual  nourishment  of 
her  later  years. 

She  took  an  interest  in  the  movements  of  poli- 
tics, especially  the  question  of  slavery  ;  she  was  an 
Abolitionist  with  the  strongest  feelings,  from  the 
first.  She  had  some  scruples  about  working  on  the 
cotton  which  was  produced  by  slave  labor  :  — 

"  When  I  have  thought  what  soil  the  cotton  plant 
We  weave  is  rooted  in,  what  waters  it  — 
The  blood  of  souls  in  bondage  —  I  have  felt 
That  I  was  sinning  against  light,  to  stay 
And  turn  the  accursed  fibre  into  cloth 
For  human  wearing.     I  have  hailed  one  name  — 
You  know  it  —  '  Garrison  '  —  as  a  soul  might  hail 
His  soul's  deliverer."  ' 

Whenever  a  petition  for  the  abolition  of  slavery 
was  circulated,  to  be  sent  to  Congress,  it  was 
always  sure  to  have  the  name  of  Lucy  Larcom 
upon  it.  The  poetry  of  Mr.  Whittier  had  aroused 
her  spirit,  and  though  she  does  not  seem  to  have 
written  any  of  her  stirring  anti-slavery  verses  until 
1  An  Idyl  of  Work,  p.  74.  ^  n^i^^  p.  iqq^ 


EABLY    DAYS.  15 

years  later,  she  was  nursing  the  spark  that  during 
the  Civil  War  blew  into  a  flame. 

It  was  in  1843,  while  in  Lowell,  that  she  first 
met  Mr.  Whittier,  who  was  editing  the  "  Middle- 
sex  Standard."  Being  present  at  one  of  the  meet- 
ings of  the  "  Improvement  Circle,"  he  heard  her 
read  one  of  her  poems,  "  Sabbath  Bells  :  "  — 

"  List !    a  faint,  a  far-off  chime  ! 
'T  is  the  knell  of  holy  time, 
Chiming  from  the  city's  spires, 
From  the  hamlet's  altar  fires,         I 
Waking  woods  and  lonely  dells, 
Pleasant  are  the  Sabbath  bells." 

Tills  introduction  began  one  of  her  most  beautiful 
friendships  ;  it  lasted  for  half  a  century.  She 
learned  to  know  and  love  the  poet's  sweet,  noble 
sister,  Elizabeth,  and  Lucy  was  treated  by  her  like 
a  sister.  There  was  something  in  Miss  Larcom's 
nature  not  unlike  Mr.  Whittier's,  —  the  same  love 
for  the  unobserved  beauties  of  country  life,  the 
same  energy  and  fire,  the  same  respect  for  the 
honest  and  sturdy  elements  in  New  England  life, 
the  same  affection  for  the  sea  and  mountains,  and 
a  similar  deep  religious  sense  of  the  nearness  of 
God. 

Having  worked  five  years  in  the  spinning-room, 
she  was  transferred  at  her  own  request  to  the  posi- 
tion of  book-keeper,  in  the  cloth-room  of  the  Law- 
rence Mills.  Here,  having  more  time  to  herself, 
she  devoted  to  study  the  minutes  not  required  by 
her  work,  reading  extracts  from  the   best  books, 


16  LUCY    LABCOM. 

and  writing  many  of  the  poems  thai;  appeared  in 
the  "  Ofeering." 

It  was  her  habit  to  carry  a  sort  of  prose  sketch- 
book, not  unlike  an  artist's,  in  which  she  would  jot 
down  in  words  the  exact  impression  made  upon  her 
by  a  scene  or  a  natural  object,  using  both  as  models 
from  which  to  draw  pictures  in  words.  In  this 
way  she  would  describe,  for  instance,  an  autumn 
leaf,  accurately  giving  its  shape,  color,  number  of 
ribs  and  veins,  ending  with  a  reflection  on  the  decay 
of  beauty.  In  turning  over  the  leaves  of  this 
sketch-book,  one  finds  descriptions  of  the  gnarled 
tree  with  its  bare  branches  thrusting  themselves 
forth  in  spiteful  crookedness;  the  butterfly  lying 
helpless  in  the  dust  with  its  green  robes  sprinkled 
with  ashes ;  the  wind  in  the  pines  singing  a  melan- 
choly tune  in  the  summer  sunlight ;  and  other  sub- 
jects of  equal  beauty.  As  an  illustration  of  these 
prose-poems,  the  suggestion  for  which  she  derived 
from  Jean  Paul  Richter,  the  following  may  be  of 
interest :  it  is  called,  "  Flowers  beneath  Dead 
Leaves : "  — 

"  Two  friends  were  walking  together  beside  a 
picturesque  mill-stream.  While  they  walked  they 
talked  of  mortal  life,  its  meaning  and  its  end ;  and, 
as  is  almost  inevitable  with  such  themes,  the  cur- 
rent of  their  thoughts  gradually  lost  its  cheerful 
flow. 

"'This  is  a  miserable  world,'  said  one.  'The 
black  shroud  of  sorrow  overhangs  everything  here.' 

"  '  Not  so,'  rej)lied  the  other.     '  Sorrow  is  not  a 


EABLY    DAYS.  17 

shroud  ;  it  is  only  the  covering  Hope  wraps  about 
her  when  she  sleeps.' 

"  Just  then  they  entered  an  oak  grove.  It  was 
early  spring,  and  the  trees  were  bare ;  but  the 
last  year's  leaves  lay  thick  as  snowdrifts  upon  the 
ground. 

" '  The  liverwort  grows  here,  I  think,  —  one  of  our 
earliest  flowers,'  said  the  last  speaker.  '  There, 
push  away  the  leaves,  and  you  will  see  it.  How 
beautiful,  with  its  delicate  shades  of  pink,  and  pur- 
ple and  green,  lying  against  the  bare  roots  of  the 
oak  tree !  But  look  deeper,  or  you  will  not  find 
the  flowers :   they  are  under  the  dead  leaves.' 

" '  Now  I  have  learned  a  lesson  which  I  shall 
not  forget,'  said  her  friend.  '  This  seems  to  me  to 
be  a  bad  world ;  and  there  is  no  denying  that  there 
are  bad  things  in  it.  To  a  sweeping  glance  it 
will  sometimes  seem  barren  and  desolate ;  but  not 
one  buried  germ  of  life  and  beauty  is  lost  to  the 
All-Seeing  Eye.  Having  the  weakness  of  human 
vision,  I  must  believe  where  I  cannot  see.  Hence- 
forth, when  I  am  tempted  to  despair  on  account 
of  evil,  I  will  say  to  myself.  Look  deeper  ;  look 
under  the  dead  leaves,  and  you  will  find  flowers.'  " 

Lucy  Larcom  almost  imperceptibly  slipped  into 
womanhood  during  these  Lowell  years.  From  be- 
ing an  eager  and  precocious  child,  she  became  an 
intelligent  and  thoughtful  woman.  The  one  char- 
acteristic which  seemed,  most  fully  defined  was  her 
tendency  to  express  her  thoughts  in  verse  and  prose. 
As  is  the  case  with  young  authors,  her  early  verses 


18  LUCY    LARCOM. 

were  artificial,  the  sentiments  were  often  borrowed, 
and  the  emotions  were  not  always  genuine.  It  is 
not  natural  to  find  a  healthy  young  girl  writing 
on  such  themes  as  "Earthly  joys  are  fleeting," 
"  Trust  not  the  world,  't  will  cheat  thee."  "  The 
murderer's  request "  was  — 

"  Bury  me  not  where  the  hreezes  are  sighing 
O'er  those  whom  I  loved  in  my  innocent  days." 

But  when  she  wrote  out  of  her  own  experience, 
and  recorded  impressions  she  had  felt,  there  was  a 
touch  of  i-eality  in  her  work  that  gave  some  prophecy 
of  her  future  excellence.  She  could  write  under- 
standingiy  about  the  boisterous  March  winds,  or 
"  school  days,"  — 

"  When  I  read  old  Peter  Parley, 

Like  a  bookworm,  through  and  through, 
Vainly  shunned  I  Lindley  Murray, 

And  dull  Colburn's  '  Two  and  Two.'  " 

One  cannot  find  any  evidence  that  she  made  a 
study  of  verse-making,  not  even  possessing  "  Walk- 
er's Rhyming  Dictionary."  Her  powers  were 
cultivated  mainly  by  reading  the  poetry  of  others 
and  unconsciously  catching  their  spirit  and  metre. 
Her  ear  for  music  helped  her  more  than  her  know- 
ledge of  tetrameters  or  hexameters. 

The  most  important  results  of  these  years  were 
the  development  of  her  self-reliance  and  sweetness, 
the  stirring  up  of  her  ambitions  to  win  an  education, 
and  the  dawnings  of  her  spiritual  life.  She  was 
laying  up  stores  of  impressions  and  memories,  also, 
that  were  to  be  permanently  preserved  in  her  more 


EABLY    DAYS.  19 

finished  jjoems  of  later  years.  The  imagery  of  her 
maturer  verse  recalls  her  early  days,  when  in  the 
freedom  of  childhood  she  roamed  the  fields  and 
the  woods,  and  lived  on  the  banks  of  the  Merriraac. 
We  see  her  yonth  again  through  her  reminiscences 
of  the  barberry  cluster  sweetened  by  the  frost ;  the 
evening  primrose  ;  roses  wet  with  briny  spray  ;  the 
woodbine  clambering  up  the  cliff ;  heaps  of  clover 
hay ;  breezes  laden  with  some  rare  wood  scent ; 
the  varied  intonations  of  the  wind ;  hieroglyphic 
lichens  on  the  rocks  ;  the  mower  whistling  from  the 
land ;  the  white  feet  of  the  children  pattering  on 
the  sand ;  the  one  aged  tree  on  the  mountain-top, 
wrestling  with  the  storm  wind  ;  the  candles  lighted 
at  sunset  in  the  gambrel-roof  ed  houses ;  the  light- 
ning glaring  in  the  face  of  the  drowning  sailor ; 
the  tragedy  of  unconscious  widowhood ;  the  mill- 
wheel,  the  hidden  power  of  the  mill,  with  its  great 
dripping  spokes ;  and  the  mystery  of  meeting  and 
blending  horizons. 

In  the  spring  of  1846  the  scene  of  Lucy  Larcom's 
life  was  changed,  when  her  sister  Emeline  mar- 
ried, and  went  to  seek  a  home  in  the  West,  for  she 
shared  with  the  new  family  their  pioneer  life  in 
Illinois.  A  few  days  before  they  started  on  their 
journey,  she  wrote  some  lines  of  farewell  in  her 
scribbling-book,  which  show  that  she  was  begin- 
ning to  use  real  experiences  for  the  subject  of  her 
verses. 

"  Farewell  to  thee,  New  England ! 
Thou  mother,  whose  kind  arm 


20  LUCY    LARCOM. 

Hath  e'er  been  circled  round  me, 

The  stern  and  yet  the  warm. 
Farewell !   thou  little  village, 

My  birthplace  and  my  home, 
Along  whose  rocky  border 

The  morning  surges  come. 
Thy  name  shall  memory  echo, 

As  exiled  shell  its  wave. 
Art  thou  my  home  no  longer  ? 

Still  keep  for  me  a  grave." 


CHAPTER  IL 

IN  ILLINOIS. 

1846-1852. 

A  JOURNEY  from  Massachusetts  to  Illinois,  in 
184G,  was  long,  and  filled  with  inconveniences.  A 
little  time-worn  diary,  written  in  pencil,  kept  by 
Lucy  Larcom  on  the  journey,  is  interesting  for 
itself,  and  preserves  the  record  of  the  difficulties 
that  beset  early  travelers  to  the  West. 

Monday,  April  13,  1846.  Returned  to  Boston 
in  the  morning,  and  now,  in  the  afternoon,  we  have 
really  started.  Passing  through  Massachusetts  and 
Connecticut,  we  encountered  a  snowstorm,  some- 
thing quite  unexpected  at  this  season !  Came  on 
board  the  steamboat  "  Worcester,"  in  darkness. 
And  here  we  are,  three  of  us,  squeezed  into  the 
queerest  little  cubby-hole  of  a  state-room  that  could 
be  thought  of.  We  all  sat  down  on  the  floor  and 
laughed  till  we  cried,  to  see  ourselves  in  such  close 
companionship !  We  had  a  dispute,  just  for  the 
fun  of  it,  as  to  who  should  occupy  the  highest 
shelf.  It  was  out  of  the  question  to  put  E.  and  the 
baby  up  there,  and  for  myself,  I  painted  the  catas- 
trophe which  would    occur,  should    I  come   down 


22  LUCY    LARCOM. 

with  my  full  weight  vipon  the  rest,  in  such  glowing 
colors,  that  they  were  willing  to  consign  me  to  the 
second  shelf ;  and  here  I  lie  while  the  rest  are 
asleep  (if  they  can  sleep  on  their  first  steamboat 
trip)  trying  to  write  of  iny  wonderful  experiences 
as  a  traveler. 

Tuesday.  Alas !  Must  I  write  it  ?  The  boast  of 
our  house  must  cease.  When  it  has  been  said  with 
so  much  pride  that  a  Larcom  was  never  seasick ! 
—  I  have  proved  the  contrary.  I  only  thought  to 
eat  a  bit  of  "  'lasses  gingerbread,"  on  occasion  of 
my  departure  from  Yankee  Land,  and  while  I  lay 
to-day  in  my  berth,  I  was  inwardly  admonished  that 
the  angry  Neptune  was  not  pleased  with  my  feast- 
ing, and  I  was  obliged  to  yield  up  the  precious 
morsel  as  a  libation  to  him.  Small  sleep  had  I 
this  night. 

In  the  morning,  S.  and  I  rose  long  before  day- 
light, and  went  out  to  peep  at  the  sea  by  moon- 
light. It  was  strange  and  new  to  see  the  path  of 
the  great  creature  in  the  waters.  After  daylight 
most  of  the  passengers  came  on  deck.  It  was  de- 
lightful sailing  into  New  York  by  sunrise. 

Passing  through  Hellgate,  I  was  reminded  of 
the  worthy  Dutch  who  went  this  way  long  ago,  as 
Dick  Knickerbocker  records.  Passed  Blackwell's 
Island,  —  saw  prisoners  at  work,  —  looked  like 
pigs.  Also  passed  the  fort  on  Frog's  Neck  ;  small 
beauty  in  the  great  smoky  city  for  me ;  an  hour's 
stay  and  a  breakfast  at  the  hotel  were  enough. 
Took  the  cars  across  New  Jersey.     Don't  like  the 


IN    ILLINOIS.  23 

appearance  of  this  State  at  all.     Reached  Philadel- 
phia about  noon.     Went  immediately  aboard  the 
"  Ohio  "  —  a  beautiful  boat,  and  a  lovely  afternoon 
it  was  when  we  sailed  down  the  Delaware.     The 
city  looked  so  pleasant  with  the  sun  shining  on  it, 
and  the  green  waving  trees  about  it,  while  the  waves 
looked  so  smooth  in  their  white  fringes,  that  I  could 
have  jumped  overboard  for  joy  !    Never  shall  I  for- 
get that  afternoon.     At  evening,  took  the  cars  to 
—  somewhere,  on  the  Chesapeake  Bay,  and  thence 
to  Baltimore  on  another  boat.     Saw  hedges,  for  the 
first  time,  in  Maryland.     Had  an  unpleasant  sail  in 
an  unpleasant  boat.     Sister  and  S.  wretchedly  sea- 
sick ;  so  was  nearly  everybody,  but  I  redeemed  my 
fame,  dancing  attendance  from  baby  to  the    sick 
ones  continually.    The  wind  blew,  the  boat  rocked, 
and  the  tide  was  against  us.     One  poor  little  Irish 
woman,  who  was  going  with  her  baby  to  meet  her 
husband,  was  terribly  frightened.     I  tried  to  com- 
fort her,  but  she  said  "  she  would  pull  eveiy  curl 
out  of  her  old  man's  head,  for  sending  for  her  and 
the  baby."    All  the  while,  a  queer-looking  German 
couple  were  on  deck ;  the  man  appeared  as  if  intox- 
icated, first  scolding  and  then  kissing !     The  wind 
was  cold,  but  the  man    shook  his  fists  when  one 
young  lady  asked  the  woman  to  come  inside  and 
get  warm.     She  would  cry  when  he  scolded  her, 
and  "make  up"  again  as  soon  as  he  was  disposed 
to.    Then  they  would  promenade  together  very  lov- 
ingly and  very  awkwardly. 

Came  into   Baltimore   between   ten  and  eleven. 


24  ,  LUCY    LARCOM. 

S.  had  her  pocket  picked  on  the  way !  Stopped 
at  the  National  Hotel  for  the  night,  and  left  B. 
again  in  the  morning,  in  the  cars.  Glad  enough, 
too,  for  I  hate  cities,  and  B.  worst  of  all.  Rode 
through  Maryland.  A  very  delightful  state,  but 
slavery  spoils  it.  Saw  the  first  log-cabin  ;  it  was 
quite  decent-looking,  in  comparison  with  the  idea  I 
had  formed  of  it.  Stopped  at  a  station  where  there 
were  three  little  negroes  sitting  on  a  bench,  sunning 
themselves,  and  combing  each  other's  wool  mean- 
while. They  looked  the  picture  of  ignorance  and 
happiness. 

Were  all  day  Thursday  riding  through  the  State 
of  Maryland.  Saw  flowers  and  trees  in  blossom : 
delightful  country,  quite  hilly,  and  well  watered. 
Followed  the  course  of  the  Potomac  a  long  way, 
and  at  noon  stopped  at  Harper's  Ferry,  a  wild- 
looking  place,  though  I  think  not  so  romantic  as 
a  place  we  passed  just  before  it,  where  tlie  waters 
curve  in  gentle  flow  from  between  two  bold  hills. 
Now  saw  the  mountains  around  Cumberland.  At 
Cumberland,  were  squeezed  into  a  stage,  to  cross 
the  Alleghenies.  Oh,  what  misery  did  we  not  en- 
dure that  night !  Nine,  and  a  baby,  in  the  little 
stage  !  I  tried  to  reconcile  myself  to  my  fate,  but 
was  so  cross  if  anybody  spoke  to  me  !  When  we 
got  out  of  the  stage  in  the  morning  I  felt  more  like 
a  snake  crawling  from  a  heap  of  rocks  than  any- 
thing else.  We  stretched  ourselves,  and  took  break- 
fast, such  as  we  could  get,  at  a  poor-looking  tavern. 
Then  into  the  stage  again,  and  over  the  mountains 


77V    ILLINOIS.  25 


to  Brownsville ;  never  imagined  mountains  could 
be  so  high,  when  we  were  riding  on  mountains  all 
the  time.  Reached  Brownsville  about  twelve,  —  a 
dingy  place  down  among  the  hills.  Took  a  little 
walk  here.  Embarked  for  Pittsburgh ;  was  glad 
enough  to  stow  myself  away  into  a  berth  and  rest. 
Did  n't  trouble  the  Monongahela  with  a  glance  after 
the  boat  started,  for  I  was  "  used  up."  Found  our- 
selves at  Pittsburgh  in  the  morning,  a  dirty  city 
indeed.  Everything  black  and  smoky.  Should 
think  the  sun  would  refuse  to  shine  upon  it. 

Friday  noon.  Here  we  take  another  boat  —  the 
"Clipper"  —  the  prettiest  one  I  have  seen  yet. 
Splendidly  furnished,  neat,  comfortable  berths,  and 
all  we  could  ask  for.  The  Ohio  is  a  beautiful 
stream.  I  sit  in  my  state-room  with  the  door  open, 
"  taking  notes."  I  am  on  the  Ohio  side  ;  the  banks 
are  steep,  —  now  and  then  we  pass  a  little  town. 
We  have  stopped  at  one,  now ;  men  and  boys  are 
lookinq;  down  on  us  from  a  sand-bank  far  above  our 
heads.  Why  the  people  chose  a  sand-bank,  when 
they  might  have  had  a  delightful  situation  almost 
anywhere,  I  wonder  much !  Oh,  dear !  nothing 
looks  like  home  !  but  I  must  not  think  of  that,  now. 

Saturday  noon.  We  are  passing  through  a  de- 
lightful country.  Peach-trees  along  the  banks  of 
the  river,  in  full  bloom,  reflected  in  the  water 
by  sunrise,  and  surrounded  by  newly-leaved  trees 
of  every  shade  of  green,  —  they  were  beautiful 
indeed.  Have  been  perfectly  charmed  with  the  va- 
ried prospect.     Hills  stretching  down  to  the  margin 


26  LUCY    LARCOM. 

of  the  river,  covered  with  trees,  and  sunny  little 
cottages  nestled  at  their  base,  surrounded  with 
every  sort  of  fruit-tree,  —  old  trees  hanging  over 
the  river,  their  topmost  boughs  crowned  with  the 
dark  green  mistletoe.  Think  I  should  like  to  live 
here  a  little  while.  Sat  on  the  deck  this  forenoon, 
and  sang  "  Sweet  Home,"  and  "  I  would  not  live 
alway,"  with  Mr.  C.  and  S.  Thunder-storm  this 
afternoon ;  went  on  deck  after  tea  to  see  the  sun- 
set —  beautiful !  Water  still,  and  reflecting  gold 
from  motionless  clouds.  Went  out  again  at  dusk, 
and  heard  the  frogs  singing.  It  seemed  a  little 
like  Saturday  evening  at  home ;  but  no  !  Passed 
North  Bend  before  sunset.  Beautiful  place  :  lai-ge 
house,  standing  back  from  the  road,  half  hid  by 
trees  ;  a  small  green  hill  near  the  house  covered 
with  young  trees ;  and  a  fine  orchard  in  bloom  on 
another  hill,  near  by.  The  river  bends  on  the 
Ohio  side. 

21st.  Stopped  at  St.  Louis,  about  ten  o'clock. 
Lay  here  till  nearly  dark,  waiting  for  canal  to  be 
mended.  Oppressively  hot ;  could  not  sit  still  nor 
sleep.     Going  through  the  canal  very  slowly. 

22d.  Passed  through  the  locks  in  the  night. 
Morning,  —  found  Illinois  on  the  right.  Dog- 
wort  looked  sweet  among  the  light  green  foliage. 
Stopped  at  Evansville  in  the  afternoon,  and  took 
in  a  freight  of  mosquitoes.  Cabin  fuU.  Retired 
early,  to  get  out  of  their  way. 

23d.  Played  chess,  forenoon.  Came  to  the 
north  of  the  bend  about  ten.    Went  on  deck  to  see 


IN    ILLINOIS.  27 

the  meeting  o£  the  waters.  Grand  sight.  Cairo, 
small  town  on  the  point,  has  been  overflowed.  So 
near  my  new  home  ;  begin  to  be  homesick. 

The  new  home  was  destined  to  be  a  log-cabin  on 
Looking-Glass  Prairie,  St.  Clair  County,  Illinois, 
with  the  broad  rolling  country  all  around,  and  a 
few  houses  in  sight.  This  settlement  was  desig- 
nated "  Frogdom  "  by  some  o£  the  residents. 

The  little  family  had  to  put  up  with  great  in- 
conveniences, the  house  not  even  being  plastered, 
and  the  furniture  being  of  the  most  primitive  kind. 
Soon  after  their  arrival,  they  were  all  ill  with 
malarial  fever,  commonly  called  "  agey,"  but  their 
spirits  never  flagged.  Lucy  somewhere  speaks  of 
herself  as  having  a  cheerful  disposition  ;  it  helped 
her,  at  this  time,  to  deal  with  the  discomforts  of  the 
novel  surroundings.  Her  sister  refers  to  her,  in  a 
letter  to  Beverly,  as  "  our  merry  young  sister  Lucy." 

Some  of  the  neighbors  were  not  as  comfortable 
as  these  new  farmers.  One  of  them,  living  not 
very  far  off,  had  for  a  home  a  hastily  constructed 
shanty,  with  a  bunk  for  a  bed,  and  innumerable 
rat-holes  to  let  the  smoke  out  when  he  had  a  fire. 
Others  were  "  right  smart  "  folk  from  Pennsylva- 
nia. Her  main  object,  however,  was  not  to  be  a 
farmer,  but  to  become  a  district-school  teacher. 
She  soon  secured  a  position  ;  and  began  the  itin- 
erant life  of  a  teacher,  spending  a  few  months  in 
many  different  places.  She  received  her  salary 
every  three  months.     Once,  when  there  was  a  little 


28  LUCY    LARCOM. 

delay  in  tlie  payment,  she  requested  it.  The  forty 
dollars  were  paid  with  the  remark  that  "  it  was  a 
powerful  lot  of  money  for  only  three  months' 
teaching." 

The  rough  boys  and  untrained  girls  called  forth 
all  her  patience,  and  the  need  of  holding  their 
attention  forced  her  to  adopt  a  straightforward 
method  of  expressing  herself.  Sometimes  her  ex- 
periences were  ludicrous.  One  day,  having  to 
discipline  a  mischievous  urchin,  she  put  him  on  a 
stool  near  the  fireplace,  and  then  went  on  with  the 
lessons,  not  noticing  him  very  much.  Looking  to 
see  what  he  was  doing,  she  was  surprised  at  his 
disappearance  from  the  room.  The  question  was, 
"  Where  has  he  gone  ?  "  It  was  answered  by  one 
of  the  scholars,  "  He  's  gone  up  the  cliimney."  He 
had  indeed  crawled  up  the  wide  open  fireplace, 
and,  having  thus  escaped,  was  dancing  a  jig  in 
front  of  the  school-house. 

Miss  Larcom  taught  in  many  different  places  — 
Waterloo,  Lebanon,  Sugar  Creek,  Woodburn  — 
and  generally  the  rate  of  payment  was  fourteen 
dollars  a  month.  Board  and  lodging  cost  her  one 
dollar  and  twenty-five  cents  a  week.  She  did  her 
own  washing  and  ironing.  The  frequent  change 
of  schools  made  her  form  attaclmients  for  the  chil- 
di'en  that  had  to  be  quickly  broken.  Speaking  of 
a  farewell  at  one  school,  she  said,  "  The  children 
cried  bitterly  when  I  dismissed  them,  whether  for 
joy  or  sorrow  it  is  n't  for  me  to  say." 

Her   letters    to  Beverly  were    brimful  of   fun ; 


IN    ILLINOIS.  29 

they  give,  in  an  easy  style,  a  vivid  account  of  the 
hardships  of  these  log-cabin  days.  The  two  fol- 
lowing letters  were  written  to  her  sisters,  Abby  and 
Lydia. 

TO    MRS.    ABBY    O.    HASKELL. 

Looking-Glass  Prairie,  May  19,  1846. 

Dear  Sister  Abby,  —  I  think  it  is  your  turn  to 
have  a  letter  now,  so  I  've  just  snuffed  the  candle, 
and  got  all  my  utensils  about  me,  and  am  going  to 
see  how  quickly  I  can  write  a  good  long  one. 

Well,  for  my  convenience,  I  beg  that  you  will 
borrow  the  wings  of  a  dove,  and  come  and  sit  down 
here  by  me.  There,  —  don't  you  see  what  a  nice 
little  room  we  are  in  ?  To  be  sure,  one  side  of  it 
has  not  got  any  side  to  it,  because  the  man  could  n't 
afford  to  lath  and  plaster  it,  but  that  patch  curtain 
that  Emeline  has  hung  up  makes  it  snug  enough 
for  summer  time,  and  reminds  us  of  the  days  of 
ancient  tapestried  halls,  and  all  tliat.  That  door, 
where  the  curtain  is,  goes  into  the  entry  ;  and  there, 
right  opposite,  is  another  one  that  goes  into  the 
parlor,  but  I  shall  not  go  in  there  with  you,  because 
there  are  n't  any  chairs  in  there  ;  you  might  sit  on 
Emeline's  blue  trunk,  or  Sarah's  green  one,  though ; 
but  I  'm  afraid  you  'd  go  behind  the  sheet  in  the 
corner,  and  steal  some  of  Emeline's  milk  that  she 's 
saving  to  make  butter  of ;  and  then,  just  as  likely  as 
not,  you  'd  want  to  know  why  that  square  piece  of 
board  was  put  on  the  bottom  of  the  window,  with 
the  pitchfork  stuck  into  it  to  keep  it  from  falling ; 


80  LUCY    LARCOM. 

of  course,  we  should  n't  like  to  tell  you  that  there  's 
a  square  of  glass  out,  and  I  suppose  you  don't 
know  about  that  great  tom-cat's  coming  in,  two 
nights,  after  we  had  all  gone  to  bed,  and  making 
that  awful  caterwauling.  So  you  had  better  stay 
here  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  '11  show  you  all  the 
things  ;  it  won't  take  long.  That  door  at  the  top 
of  three  steps  leads  upstairs  ;  the  little  low  one  close 
to  it  is  the  closet  door,  —  you  need  n't  go  prying  in 
there,  to  see  what  we  've  got  to  eat,  for  you  '11  cer- 
tainly bump  your  head  if  you  do  ;  pass  by  the  par- 
lor door  and  the  curtain,  and  look  out  of  that  win- 
dow on  the  front  side  of  the  house ;  if  it  was  not  so 
dark,  you  might  see  the  beautiful  flower-beds  that 
Sarah  has  made,  —  a  big  diamond  in  the  centre, 
with  four  triangles  to  match  it.  As  true  as  I  live, 
she  has  been  making  her  initials  right  in  the  centre 
of  the  diamond !  There  's  a  great  S,  and  an  M,  but 
where  's  the  H  ?  Oh !  you  don't  know  how  that 
tlog  came  in  and  scratched  it  all  up,  and  laid  down 
there  to  sun  himself,  the  other  day.  We  tell  her 
there 's  a  sign  to  it,  —  losing  her  maiden  name  so 
soon.  She  declares  she  won't  have  it  altered  by  a 
puppy,  though.  These  two  windows  look  (through 
the  fence)  over  to  our  next  neighbor's ;  that 's  our 
new  cooking-stove  between  them ;  is  n't  it  a  cun- 
ning one  ?  the  funnel  goes  up  clear  through  Eme- 
line's  bedroom,  till  it  gets  to  "outdoors."  We 
keep  our  chimney  in  the  parlor.  Then  that  door 
on  the  other  side  looks  away  across  the  prairie, 
three  or  four  miles  ;  and  that  brings  us  to  where 
we  started  from. 


IN    ILLINOIS.  31 

As  to  furniture,  this  is  the  table,  where  I  am 
writinir  :  it  is  a  stained  one,  without  leaves,  large 
enough  for  six  to  eat  from,  and  it  cost  just  two 
dollars    and  a   quarter.      There   are  a  half  dozen 
chairs,  black,  with  yellow  figures,  and  this  is  the 
rocking-chair,  where  we  get  baby  to  sleep.     That 
is  E.'s  rag  mat  before  the  stove,  and  George  fixed 
that  shelf  for  the  water-pail  in  the    corner.     The 
coffee-mill  is  close  to  it,  and  that 's  all.    Now  don't 
you  call  us  rich  ?     I  'm  sure  we  feel  grand  enough. 
Now,  if  you  would  only  just  come  and  make  us 
a  visit  in  earnest,  Emeline  would  make  you  some 
nice  corn-meal  fritters,  and  you  should  have  some 
cream  and  sugar  on  them  ;  and  I  would  make  you 
some  nice  doughnuts,  for  I  've  learned  so  much ; 
and  you    should  have  milk  or  coffee,  just  as  you 
pleased ;  it  is  genteel  to  drink  coffee  for  breakfast, 
dinner,  and  supper,  here.     Then,  if  you  did  n't  feel 
satisfied,  we  should  say  that   it  was  because  you 
had  n't  lived  on  johnny-cakes  and  milk  a  week,  as 
we  did. 

I  have  got  to  begin  to  be  very  dignified,  for  I 
am  going  to  begin  to  keep  school  next  Monday,  in 
a  little  log-cabin,  all  alone.  One  of  the  "  com- 
mittee men  "  took  me  to  Lebanon,  last  Saturday, 
in  his  prairie  wagon,  to  be  examined.  You  've  no 
idea  how  frightened  I  was,  but  I  answered  all  their 
questions,  and  did  n't  make  any  more  mistakes  than 
they  did.  They  told  me  I  made  handsome  figures, 
wrote  a  good  hand,  and  spoke  correctly,  so  I  begin 
to  feel  as  if  I  knew  most  as  much  as  other  folks. 


32  LUCY    LAECOM. 

Emeline  does  not  gain  any  flesh,  although  she 
has  grown  very  handsome  since  she  came  to  the 
land  of  "  hog  and  hominy."  Your  humble  servant 
is  as  fat  as  a  pig,  as  usual,  though  she  has  not 
tasted  any  of  the  j)orkers  since  her  emigration,  for 
the  same  reason  that  a  certain  gentleman  woidd  not 
eat  any  of  Aunt  Betsey's  cucumbers,  —  "  not  fit  to 
eat."  That 's  my  opinion,  and  if  you  had  seen  such 
specimens  of  the  living  animal  as  I  have,  since  I  left 
home,  you  'd  say  so,  too.  Lucy. 

TO   MRS.    I.    W.    BAKEK. 

Looking-Glass  Prairie,  June  9,  1846. 
Dear  Sistee,  —  Here  I  am,  just  got  home  from 
school ;  all  at  once  a  notion  takes  me  that  I  want 
to  write  to  you,  and  I  'm  doing  it.  I  'm  sitting  in 
our  parlor,  or  at  least,  what  we  call  our  parlor,  be- 
cause the  cooking-stove  is  not  in  it,  and  because 
Emeline  has  laid  her  pretty  rag  mat  before  the 
hearth,  and  because  the  sofa  is  in  here.  There! 
you  did  n't  think  we  'd  get  a  sofa  out  here,  did 
you  ?  Well,  to  be  sure,  it  is  n't  exactly  like  your 
sofa,  because  it  is  n't  stuffed,  nor  covered,  nor  has 
it  any  back,  only  the  side  of  the  house  ;  nor  any 
legs,  only  red  ones,  made  of  brick ;  dear  me  !  I  'm 
afraid  you  '11  "  find  out,"  after  all,  —  but  it  cer- 
tainly did  come  all  the  way  from  St.  Louis,  in  the 
wagon  with  the  other  furniture.  We  keep  our 
"  cheers  "  in  the  kitchen,  and  we  find  that  Becky 
Wallis's  definition  of  them,  /.  c,  "  to  sit  on,"  don't 
tell  the  whole  story  now. 


IN    ILLINOIS.  33 

But  don't  you  want  to  hear  how  we  like  it,  out 
here,  in  this  great  country?  Oh,  happy  as  clams  ! 
and  we  have  n't  been  homesick,  either,  only  once 
in  a  while,  when  it  seemed  so  queer  getting  "  nat- 
uralized," that  we  couldn't  help  "keepin'  up  a 
terrible  thinkin'."  By  the  way,  we  were  all  sick 
last  week,  —  no,  not  all ;  Emeline  and  the  baby 
were  not.  Georoe  and  Sarah  and  I  all  had  the  doc- 
tor  at  once.  I  was  taken  first,  and  had  the  most 
violent  attack,  and  got  well  soonest.  Our  com- 
plaint was  remittent  fever,  wliich  is  only  another 
name  for  chills  and  fever,  I  suspect.  I  felt 
ashamed  to  get  "  the  chills  "  so  soon  after  coming 
here,  and  I  believe  the  doctor  was  kind  enough  to 
call  it  something  else.  I  did  have  one  regular 
"  chill,"  though ;  the  blood  settled  under  my  nails, 
and  though  I  didn't  shake,  I  shivered  "like  I 
had  the  agey."  That 's  our  Western  phraseology. 
Blue  pills  and  quinine  I  thought  would  be  the 
death  of  me  ;  but  I  believe  they  cured  me  after  all. 
I  had  to  leave  school  for  a  week,  but  yesterday  I 
commenced  again. 

My  school !  Oh,  the  times  I  do  have  there  with 
the  young  Suckers  I  I  have  to  walk  rather  more 
than  a  mile  to  it,  and  it  is  in  just  the  most  literal 
specimen  of  a  log-cabin  that  you  can  form  any  idea 
of.  'T  is  built  of  unhewn  logs,  laid  "  criss-cross," 
as  we  used  to  say  down  in  the  lane  ;  the  chinks 
filled  up  with  mud,  except  those  which  are  not 
filled  up  "  at  all,  at  all,"  and  the  chimney  is  stuck 
on  behind  the  house.     The  Hoor  lies  as  easy  as  it 


34  LUCY  LAECOM. 

can,  on  the  ground,  and  the  benches  are,  some  of 
them  (will  you  believe  it  ?),  very  much  like  our 
sofa.  They  never  had  a  school  in  this  distiict  be- 
fore, and  my  "  ideas  "  are  beginning-  to  "  shoot  " 
very  naturally,  most  of  them.  I  asked  one  new 
scholar  yesterday  how  old  she  was.  "  Don't  know," 
she  said,  "  never  was  inside  of  a  schoolhonse  be- 
fore." Another  big  girl  got  hold  of  my  rubbers 
the  other  day,  "  Ouch,"  said  she,  "  be  them  Ingin 
robbers  ?  I  never  seen  any  'fore."  Some  of  them 
are  bright  enough  to  make  up  for  all  this,  and  on 
the  whole  I  enjoy  being  "schoolma'am  "  very  much. 
I  have  not  seen  a  snake  since  I  came  here,  and  if  I 
did  n't  have  to  pass  through  such  a  sprinkling  of 
cattle  on  my  way  to  school,  I  should  n't  have  a 
morsel  of  trouble.  Everybody  turns  his  "  cattle- 
brutes  "  out  on  the  open  prairie  to  feed,  and  they 
will  get  right  into  my  path,  and  such  a  mooing  and 
bellowing  as  they  make  !  George  has  three  big 
cows  and  two  little  ones,  and  two  calves,  and  a 
horse,  and  ten  hens,  and  a  big  pig  and  a  little  one : 
only  the  big  pig  has  dug  a  subterranean  passage, 
and  "  runned  away."  And  I  don't  milk  the  cows, 
and  I  won't  learn  to,  if  I  can  help  it,  because  they 
will  be  so  impolite  as  to  turn  round  and  stare  me 
in  the  face  always  when  I  go  near  them. 

Talk  to  me  about  getting  married  and  settling- 
down  here  in  the  West !  I  don't  do  that  thintr  till 
I  'm  a  greater  goose  than  I  am  now,  for  love  nor 
money.  It  is  a  common  saying  here,  that  "  this  is 
a  fine  country  for  men  and  dogs,  but  women  and 


IN  ILLINOIS.  35 

oxen  have  to  take  it."  The  secret  of  it  is  that 
farmers'  wives  have  to  do  all  their  work  in  one 
room,  without  any  help,  and  almost  nothing  to 
work  with.  If  ever  I  had  the  mind  to  take  the 
vestal  vow,  it  has  been  since  I  "  emigrated." 
Yon  '11  see  me  coming  back  one  of  these  years,  a 
"  right  smart "  old  maid,  my  fat  sides  and  cheeks 
shaking  with  "  the  agey,"  to  the  tune  of  "  Oh,  take 
your  time,  Miss  Lucy  !  " 

I  've  a  good  mind  to  give  you  a  picture,  for  the 
sun  is  setting,  and  it  makes  me  feel  "  sort  o'  ro- 
mantic." Well,  in  the  first  place,  make  a  great 
wide  daub  of  green,  away  off  as  far  as  the  sunset ; 
streak  it  a  little  deeper,  half-way  there,  for  the 
wheat  fields.  A  little  to  the  right  make  a  smooth, 
bluish  green  hill,  as  even  as  a  potato  hill,  —  that 's 
the  Blue  Mound.  A  little  one  side,  make  a  hun- 
dred little  red,  black,  and  white  specks  on  the 
grass,  —  them  's  the  "  cattle-brutes."  Eight  against 
the  sun,  you  may  make  a  little  bit  of  a  house,  with 
one  side  of  the  roof  hanging  over  like  an  umbrella, 
—  that 's  Mr.  Merritt's.  And  here,  right  before 
you,  make  a  little  whitewashed  log-cabin,  with  a 
Virginia  fence  all  round  it  ever  so  far,  and  a  bank 
on  one  side  sloping  down  to  a  little  brook,  where 
honey-locust  trees  a-plenty  grow.  Make  it  green 
'n  a  great  circle  all  round,  just  as  if  you  were  out 
at  sea,  where  it 's  all  blue ;  then  put  on  a  great 
round  blue  sky  for  a  cover,  throw  in  a  very  few 
clouds,  and  have  a  "  picter,"  or  part  of  one,  of  our 
prairie.     There  now,  don't  you  think  I  should  have 


36  LUCY  LAB  COM. 

been  an  artist,  if  circumstances  had  only  developed 
my  natural  genius?  All  send  love.  Your  ever- 
lasting sister,  Lucy. 

The  pioneer  family  found  it  necessary  to  move 
their  main  headquarters,  for  Mr.  Spaulding,  the 
husband  of  Emeline,  decided  to  give  up  farming, 
and  become  a  minister.  Ministers  were  scarce  in 
that  region,  and  seeing  the  need,  he  carried  out  a 
cherished  plan  of  his  youth  by  being  ordained  as  a 
preacher  of  the  gospel.  Consequently  they  deserted 
their  home,  and  went  to  Woodburn,  with  all  their 
newly  acquired  furnitui-e  on  three  wagons,  each 
drawn  by  three  yoke  of  oxen  that  splashed  thi-ough 
the  mud,  until  they  came  to  a  cottage  possessing 
more  rooms  than  the  house  they  had  left,  though 
the  doors  were  made  of  rough  boards.  These  rooms 
were  papered  by  Lucy,  with  Boston  "Journals." 
She  grew  to  love  this  cottage,  for  it  represented 
home  to  her  on  the  prairie. 

In  spite  of  cares  and  unpoetical  methods  of 
living,  her  pen  was  not  idle.  She  wrote  of  the 
little  prairie  rose  :  — 

"  Flowers  around  are  thick  and  bright, 
The  purple  phlox  and  orchis  white, 
The  orang-e  lily,  iris  blue. 
And  painted  cups  of  flaming  hue. 
Not  one  among  them  grows. 
So  lovely  as  the  little  prairie  rose." 

The  spirit  of  a  jolly  ride  over  the  snow  she 
cauglit  in  some  lines  called  "  A  Prairie  Sleigh- 
Ride  : "  — 


IN  ILLINOIS.  37 

"  Away  o'er  the  prairies,  the  wide  and.  the  free, 
Away  o'er  the  glistening'  prairies  with  me  ; 
The  last  glance  of  day  lights  a  blush  on  the  snow. 
While  away  through  the  twilight  our  merry  steeds  go." 

She  also  felt  the  awe  inspired  by  the  silence  and 
immensity  of  the  land,  with  the  blue  heavens  arch- 


ing over. 


"  But  in  its  solemn  silence, 
Father,  we  feel  thou  art 
Filling  alike  this  boundless  sea, 
And  every  humble  heart." 

When  Lucy  had  been  teaching  district  school 
for  two  years,  she  was  conscious  of  her  defi- 
ciencies, and  longed  for  a  chance  to  acquire  a 
more  thorough  education.  She  wished  to  fit  her- 
self for  promotion  in  her  calling,  and  ambitions  to 
become  a  writer  were  not  absent  from  her  thoughts. 
An  opportunity  for  study  presented  itself  in  Mon- 
ticello  Female  Seminary,  Alton,  Illinois,  which  was 
about  twenty  miles  away  from  her  home.  This  in- 
stitution, founded  by  Captain  B.  Godfrey,  was  one 
of  the  first  established  in  the  country  for  the  higher 
education  of  women.  The  prospectus  of  1845, 
adorned  with  a  stiff  engraving  of  the  grounds  and 
large  stone  building,  offered  in  its  antiquated  lan- 
guage, attractions  which  seemed  to  suit  her  needs : 
"  The  design  of  the  Institution,  is  to  furnish  Young 
Ladies  with  an  education,  substantial^  extensive 
and  practical,  —  that  shall  at  the  same  time  de- 
velop harmoniously  their  physical,  intellectual,  and 
moral  powers,  and  prepare  them  for  the  sober  re- 
alities and  duties  of  life."     All  this  was  to  be  had 


38  LUCY  LAECOM. 

for  a  sum  less  than  one  hundred  doUai'S,  in  a  situa- 
tion so  healthful  that  there  "  had  never  been  a 
death  in  the  institution." 

TO   MRS.    I.    W.    BAKER. 

WooDBUKN,  November  23, 1848. 
...  I  have  a  new  notion  in  my  head,  and  I  sup- 
pose I  may  as  well  broach  it  at  once.  There  is  a 
certain  Seminary  in  the  neighborhood  at  which  I  am 
very  anxious  to  pass  a  year  or  so.  It  is  one  of  the 
best  of  its  kind.  I  want  a  better  education  than  I 
have.  Now  I  am  only  a  tolerable  sort  of  a  "  school- 
ma'am"  for  children  ;  but  if  I  could  teach  higher 
branches,  I  could  make  it  more  profitable,  with  less 
labor.  I  suppose  I  must  call  teaching  my  trade ; 
and  though  I  don't  like  it  the  "  very  best  kind,"  I 
want  to  understand  it  as  well  as  possible.  And 
then  if  I  don't  always  keep  school  I  may  be  able  to 
depend  on  my  pen  for  a  living.  .  .  . 

As  Lucy  was  not  able  to  pay  the  full  tuition,  the 
principal,  Miss  Fobes,  arranged  that  she  should 
be  both  student  and  teacher,  thus  helping  to  defray 
her  expenses.  She  entered  the  school  in  Septem- 
ber, 1849,  and  studied,  in  earnest,  history,  metaphy= 
sics,  English  literature,  and  higher  mathematics, 
and  laid  the  foundation  for  a  thorough  education. 

Her  schoolmates  remember  with  pleasure  the 
beauty  of  her  life  at  Monticello.  They  sj^eak  of 
the  gentleness  and  peculiar  sweetness  of  lier  charac- 
ter.    Nothing  coarse  or  mean  could  be  associated 


IN  ILLINOIS.  39 

with  her.  Being  older  than  the  other  girls  she  was 
looked  up  to  with  reverence  by  them.  Her  singular 
purity  of  mind  was  illustrated  by  a  remark  to  one 
of  her  companions,  when  they  were  talking  about 
the  Christian  life,  —  "I  never  knew  there  was  any 
other  way  to  live."  One  of  her  schoolmates  writes  : 
"  I  felt  homesick,  until  one  day  I  was  introduced 
to  a  large,  fair-faced  woman,  and  looked  up  to  meet 
a  pair  of  happy  blue  eyes  smiling  down  upon  me, 
so  full  of  sweet  human  kindness  that  the  clouds 
fell  straight  away.  And  from  that  day  the  kind- 
ness never  failed  me  —  I  think  it  never  failed  any- 
one. '  The  sunshine  of  her  face '  were  words  that 
went  out  in  many  of  my  letters  in  those  days." 

She  studied  industriously  each  subject  of  the 
course.  Her  note-books  contain  full  extracts  from 
the  authors  she  was  reading,  with  long  comments 
by  herself.  Those  on  philosophy  indicate  a  mind 
naturally  delighting  in  speculative  questions ;  and 
when  her  reasoning  touches  upon  theology,  she 
seems  especially  in  earnest.  History  appealed  to 
her  imagination,  and  she  seized  upon  the  more  dra- 
matic incidents  for  comment.  English  literature 
opened  a  new  world  of  thought  to  her,  and  she 
studied  enthusiastically  the  origin  and  growth  of 
poetry.  In  these  studies  of  English  it  was  first 
suffffested  to  her  that  there  was  an  art  of  versifica^ 
tion,  which  could  be  cultivated.  From  this  time 
her  lines  conform  more  to  poetic  rules,  her  ear  for 
music  being  supplemented  by  a  knowledge  of  metre. 

There  was  one  subject  she  could  not  master,  — 


40  LUCY  LAECOM. 

mathematics :  "  I  am  working  on  spherical  trig- 
onometr}^,  just  now.  I  don't  fancy  it  much;  it 
needs  a  clearer  head  than  mine  to  take  in  such  ab- 
stract matters  as  the  sides  and  angles  of  the  tri- 
angle that  can  be  imagined,  but  not  seen."  She 
would  exclaim,  when  studying  Conic  Sections,  that 
she  could  see  all  the  beauty,  and  feel  all  the  poetry, 
but  could  not  take  the  steps.  When,  however, 
after  great  work,  she  did  understand  a  proposition, 
she  accepted  it  as  an  eternal  fact  which  God  used 
for  infinite  purposes. 

The  girls  at  Monticello  had  a  debating  society. 
They  gained  confidence  in  speaking  on  such  ques- 
tions as,  — "  The  blind  man  has  more  enjoyment 
in  life,  than  the  dumb  man,"  or,  "  Does  the  devel- 
opment of  science  depend  more  upon  genius  than 
industry  ? "  Youthful  wits  were  sharpened  as  a 
residt  of  afSrming  and  denying  these  momentous 
propositions,  in  arguments  as  strong  as  could  be 
had.  Does  not  the  following  extract  from  one  of 
Lucy's  speeches  present  a  typical  picture  of  the 
fortunes  of  war  in  debate,  when  members  are 
sometimes  overcome  by  the  weight  of  their  own 
wisdom  ?  "  The  member  from  Otter  Creek  arose 
and  said  that  immigrants  to  this  country  were  not 
the  "^ lowest  classes,  that  they  were  quite  a  decent 
sort  of  people  —  but  upon  uttering  these  words, 
she  was  shaken  by  a  qualm  of  conscience,  or  some 
sudden  indisposition,  and  compelled  to  take  her 
seat." 

There  were  also  compositions  to  be  written.     The 


IN  ILLINOIS.  41 

subjects  assigned  for  tliese  monthly  tests  of  literary 
ability  were  as  artificial  as  those  for  debate.  The 
object  of  the  teacher  in  our  early  schools  seems  to 
have  been  the  selection  of  topics  for  essays  as  far 
removed  from  anything  usual  or  commonplace  as 
possible.  One  can  very  easily  imagine  what  would 
be  the  style  of  an  essay  on  the  topic,  "  It  is  the  high 
prerogative  of  the  heroic  soul  to  propagate  its  own 
likeness."  Lucy  managed  to  get  a  little  humor 
into  the  discussion  of  the  question,  —  "  Was  the 
building  of  Bunker  Hill  Monument  a  wise  expen- 
diture of  funds  ?  "  She  argued  :  "  Is  there  a  use 
in  monuments  ?  Perhaps  not,  literally.  We  have 
heard  of  no  process  by  which  Bunker  Hill  Monu- 
ment might  be  converted  into  a  lodging-house,  and 
though  we  are  aware  that  our  thrifty  brethren  of 
Yankee-land  have  made  it  yield  its  quota  of  dollars 
and  cents,  so  that  any  aspirant  may  step  into  a 
basket  and  be  swung  to  the  pinnacle  of  a  nation's 
glory  for  ninepence,  we  are  not  in  the  habit  of  con- 
sidering this  its  sole  productive  principle,  unless 
gratitude  and  patriotism  are  omitted." 

Miss  Larcom  remained  at  IVIonticello  Seminary 
until  her  graduation  in  June,  1852.  Miss  Fobes 
says :  "  When  she  left  the  institution,  with  her  di- 
ploma, and  the  benediction  of  her  Alma  Mater,  we 
felt  sure  that,  with  her  noble  equipment  for  service, 
the  result  should  be  success  in  whatever  field  she 
should  find  her  work."  Her  improvement  had 
been  so  great  that  it  was  noticeable  to  the  mem- 
bers of  the  family,  who  referred  to  her  as  "  our 
learned  sister." 


42  LUCY  LiiBCOM. 

TO    MRS.    ABBY    O.    HASKELL. 

MoNTiCELLO  Seminary,  May  14th,  1850. 
.  .  .  But  pray  don't  call  me  your "  learned  sis- 
ter "  any  more  ;  for  if  I  deserved  the  title,  it  would 
make  me  feel  like  a  something  on  a  pedestal,  and 
not  plain  Lucy  Larcom:  the  sister  of  some  half- 
dozen  worthy  matrons. 

I  think  it  must  be  a  mistake  about  my  having 
improved  so  very  much  ;  though  I  should  be  sorry 
to  have  lived  all  these  years  and  made  no  advance- 
ment. Folks  tell  me  that  I  am  dignified,  some- 
times, but  I  don't  know  what  it  means.  I  have 
never  tried  to  be,  and  I  seem  just  as  natural  to  my- 
self as  anything. 

I  don't  know  how  I  coidd  ever  get  along  with 
all  your  cares.  I  should  like  tending  the  babies 
well  enough,  but  when  it  came  to  washing,  baking, 
brewing,  and  mending,  my  patience  would  take 
"French  leave."  Still  I  don't  believe  that  any 
married  woman's  trials  are  much  worse  than  a 
"  schoolma'am's."  .  .  . 

There  was  an  event  in  her  life  in  the  West  to  be 
touched  on.  It  relates  to  her  one  serious  love  af- 
fair. A  deep  attachment  sprang  up  between  Lucy 
and  a  young  man  who  had  accompanied  her  sister's 
family  to  Illinois,  and  for  a  time  lived  with  them 
during  their  log-cabin  experiences,  but  afterwards 
went  to  California.  When  he  left,  though  they 
could  hardly  be  called  engaged,  there  was  an  under- 


IN  ILLINOIS.  43 

standino-  between  them  tliat,  when  he  returned 
during-  the  last  days  of  her  school  life,  they  were  to 
decide  the  matter  finally.  After  three  years  of  sep- 
aration, they  were  no  nearer  a  conclusion.  Some 
years  after  this,  it  became  clear  to  Miss  Larcom 
that  their  marriage  would  not  be  for  the  best  inter- 
ests of  either. 

In  1852,  her  thoughts  turned  again  to  her  native 
town  of  Beverly.  Equipped  with  her  JMonticello 
education,  she  felt  prepared  to  support  herself  by 
teachino-  in  her  cong-enial  home  in  the  East.  The 
memories  of  her  childhood  drew  her  back  in  thought 
to  her  old  home.  She  wrote  to  her  brother  Benja- 
min in  March,  "  The  almanac  says  I  am  twenty- 
eight  years  old,  but  really,  Ben,  I  do  believe  it  fibs, 
for  I  don't  feel  half  so  old.  It  seems  only  the 
other  day  that  Lydia  and  I  were  sitting  by  the 
big  kitchen  fireplace,  down  the  lane,  and  you  op- 
posite us,  puffing  cigar-smoke  into  our  hair,  and 
singing,  '  My  name  is  Apollyon.'  " 

To  her  sister  Lydia,  whose  birthday  was  on  the 
same  day  of  the  month  as  her  own,  she  sent  some 
verses  recalling  her  childhood. 

"  In  childhood  we  looked  gayly  out, 
To  see  this  blustering  da-wn  begin 
And  hailed  the  wind  whose  noisy  shout 
Our  mutual  birthday  ushered  in. 

"  For  cakes,  beneath  our  pillow  rolled, 

We  laughing  searched,  and  wondered,  too, 
How  mother  had  so  well  foretold 
What  fairy  people  meant  to  do." 


CHAPTER  III. 

LIFE   AT   NORTON. 

1853-1859. 

In  the  autumn  of  1853,  Miss  Larcom,  having 
returned  to  Beverly,  lived  for  a  year  with  her 
sister,  Mrs.  Baker,  in  the  pretty  old-fashioned 
house  on  Cabot  Street.  Securing  a  few  rooms  in 
an  unoccupied  house  not  far  away,  she  fitted  them 
up  as  schoolroom  and  studio.  Here  she  taught 
a  little  school  with  ten  scholars.  Most  of  these 
young  girls  were  as  far  advanced  as  the  second 
class  at  Monticello,  and  having  already  been  in- 
structed in  the  fundamental  studies,  they  were  not 
so  difficult  to  teach  as  her  u.n trained  pupils  in  the 
West.  The  impression  she  made  upon  each  of 
these  young  lives  was  strong,  for,  as  a  little  family, 
she  not  only  taught  them  the  lessons,  but  gave 
them  generously  from  her  enthusiasm  and  faith. 
She  imparted  to  them  her  love  for  all  things  true 
and  beautiful.  When  the  school  year  closed,  she 
asked  each  girl  to  choose  her  favorite  flower,  upon 
which  she  wrote  a  few  lines  of  verse,  —  on  the  hya- 
cinth, signifying  jealousy,  —  on  the  lily  of  the  vaL 
ley,  meaning  innocence. 


LIFE  AT  NORTON.  45 

"  The  fragrance  Sarah  would  inhale 
Is  the  lily  of  the  vale  : 
'  Humility,'  it  whispers  low  ; 
Ah !  let  that  gentle  breathing-  flow 
Deep  within,  and  then  will  you 
Be  a  lily  of  the  valley  too." 

One  of  these  pupils  wrote  to  her  years  after: 
"  Among  the  teachers  of  my  girlhood,  you  are 
the  one  who  stands  out  as  my  model  of  woman- 
hood." 

While  teaching,  she  still  considered  herself  a 
scholar.  Nor  did  she  ever  in  after  life  overcome 
this  feeling,  for  she  was  always  eager  to  learn. 
When  she  was  imparting  her  best  instruction,  and 
writing  her  most  noteworthy  books,  she  studied 
with  great  fidelity.  At  this  time  she  took  lessons 
in  French  and.  drawing ;  her  love  for  color  and 
form  was  always  great.  Often  she  had  attempted 
in  crude  ways  to  preserve  the  spirit  of  a  landscape, 
and  so  reproduce  the  color  of  the  green  ferns  and 
variegated  flowers ;  but  now  she  set  about  the  task 
in  earnest.  She  had  no  special  talent  for  painting, 
so  she  did  nothing  worthy  of  special  notice,  but  some 
water-color  sketches  of  autumn  leaves,  the  golden- 
rod's  "  rooted  sunshine,"  woodland  violets,  and  the 
coral  of  the  barberry,  and  apple-blossoms,  "flakes 
of  fragrance  drifting  everywhere,"  are  very  pretty. 
This  study  of  painting,  however,  trained  her  obser- 
vation, and  prepared  her  to  appreciate  works  of 
art  by  giving  her  some  knowledge  of  the  use  of 
the  palette.  This  early  attempt  at  artist's  work 
strengthened  her  love  for  pictures ;  and  it  was  a 


46  LUCY  LARCOM. 

special  treat  to  her  to  visit  the  different  galleries 
in  Boston,  where  she  was  sure  to  be  one  of  the 
first  to  see  a  celebrated  painting. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  her  to  be  once  more  with 
her  family,  for  the  members  of  which  she  had  the 
deepest  affection.  Writing  to  Miss  Fobes,  she  ex- 
pressed herself  thus  :  "  I  am  glad  I  came  home, 
for  I  never  realized  before  what  a  treasure  my 
family  circle  was,  nor  how  much  I  loved  them. 
Then  why  do  I  not  wish  to  stay  ?  Simply  because 
it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  I  can  here  develop  the 
utmost  that  is  in  me.  Ought  I  to  be  contented 
while  that  feeling  remains?  " 

The  feeling  that  she  must  develop  "  the  utmost 
that  is  in  me,"  impelled  her  through  life,  as  a  duty 
that  she  must  regard.  She  was  not  without  oppor- 
tunities for  cultivation  in  Beverly.  There  were 
the  two  weekly  Lyceum  lectures,  with  good  speak- 
ers—  Miss  Lucy  Stone  had  advocated  woman's 
rights  so  ably  that  "  even  in  this  conservative  town 
many  became  converts."  However,  she  longed  for 
a  larger  work,  and  was  ready  to  accept  the  call  to 
be  a  teacher  in  Wheaton  Seminary,  Norton,  Massa- 
chusetts. 

In  the  early  winter  of  1854,  she  began  her  work 
at  Wheaton  Seminary,  the  large  school  for  girls, 
founded  through  the  generosity  of  Judge  Wheaton, 
in  memory  of  his  daughter.  The  subjects  given 
her  to  teach  were  history,  moral  j)liilosophy,  lit- 
erature, and  rhetoric,  including  the  duty  of  over- 
looking the  greater  part  of  the  compositions. 


LIFE  AT  NORTON.  47 

Her  spirit  on  entering  upon  this  new  work,  is 
indicated  by  this  letter  :  — 

TO  MISS  p.  FOBES.  ♦ 

Wheaton  Seminaky,  Norton,  Mass., 
January  10,  1855. 

Dear  Miss  Fobes  :  —  When  I  look  back  upon 
my  life  I  think  I  see  it  divided  into  epochs  similar 
to  geological  ages,  when,  by  slow  or  sudden  up- 
heavings,  I  have  found  myself  the  wondering  pos- 
sessor of  a  new  life  in  a  new  world.  My  years  at 
Monticello  formed  such  an  epoch,  and  it  is  no  flat- 
tery to  say  that  to  you  I  owe  much  of  the  richness 
and  beauty  of  the  landscape  over  which  I  now 
exult.  For  your  teaching  gave  me  intellectually  a 
broader  scope  and  firmer  footing  than  I  ever  had 
ventured  upon. 

I  know  that  I  have  done  almost  nothing  as  yet 
to  show  that  I  have  received  so  much  good.  Life 
here  seems  to  me  not  much  more  than  "  a  getting 
ready  to  do."  But  in  the  consciousness  of  what  it 
is  to  be  a  human  being,  created  in  the  image  of  the 
divine,  —  in  the  gradual  developing  of  new  inner 
powers  like  unfolding  wings,  —  in  the  joy  of  enter- 
ing  into  the  secrets  of  beauty  in  God's  universe,  — 
in  the  hopefulness  of  constant  struggling  and  aspir- 
ing, I  am  rich. 

I  have  been  in  this  place  only  a  few  weeks  and 
suppose  the  length  of  my  stay  will  depend  upon 
the  satisfaction  I  give  and  receive.  It  is  a  pleasant 
school.  Yours  truly,  LuCY  Larcom. 


48  LUCY  LARCOM. 

The  length  of  her  stay  in  Norton  extended  over 
eight  important  years  of  her  life,  from  1854  to 
1862.  These  years  were  full  of  intellectual  and 
religious  struggles,  of  hard  student  life,  of  sweet 
companionships,  of  the  beginnings  of  literary  suc= 
cess,  and  of  deep  friendships.  Earnestness  and 
sincerity  here  became  her  characteristic  traits ; 
while  her  gentleness  and  patience,  though  sorely 
tried  at  times  by  the  misconduct  or  failure  of  her 
scholars,  became  habitual  with  her. 

One  cannot  think  of  the  quiet  life  she  led  under 
the  Norton  elms,  without  jDicturing  the  tall  grace- 
ful woman  with  her  sweet  face,  low  broad  forehead, 
and  soft  blue  eyes,  moving  about  among  the  girls 
as  a  continual  inspiration,  always  leading  them  by 
her  presence  and  words  into  some  region  of  senti- 
ment, or  beauty,  or  religion.  In  the  schoolroom, 
ever  dignified,  she  spoke  in  a  low  voice  with  the 
emphasis  of  real  interest.  In  her  own  room,  with 
its  green  carpet  and  white  curtains,  where  she  liked 
to  retire  for  thought  and  work,  surrounded  by  her 
books,  a  few  pictures,  and  shells  and  pressed  sea- 
weed, she  would  prepare  her  lectures,  and  write  her 
letters  to  her  friends.  There  were  sure  to  be  flow- 
ers on  her  table,  sent  either  by  some  loving  scholar, 
or  plucked  by  her  own  hand,  —  "I  have  some 
pretty  things  in  my  room ;  and  flowers,  so  alive  ! 
As  I  look  into  their  deep  cups,  I  am  filled  with  the 
harmonies  of  color  and  form.  How  warm  a  brisfht 
rose-pink  carnation  makes  the  room  on  a  wintry 
day !  "     A    scholar  tells  how,  venturing  into  this 


LIFE  AT  NORTON.  49 

retreat,  she  saw  Miss  Larcom  quietly  sitting  in  a 
rocking-chair,  knitting  stockings  for  the  soldiers, 
during  the  War. 

She  was  a  conscientious  student  in  preparing 
her  lessons  ;  she  read  the  best  books  she  could  find 
in  the  school  library,  or  could  borrow  from  her 
friends.  The  notes  of  her  lectures  show  great  labor 
by  their  exhaustiveness.  As  a  teacher,  some  of  her 
power  was  derived  from  the  clearness  with  which 
she  presented  the  theme,  and  her  picturesque  style 
of  expression.  She  invested  the  most  lifeless  topics 
with  interest  by  the  use  of  original  and  appropri- 
ate illustrations,  —  as  will  be  seen  in  the  following 
passage  from  a  lecture  on  Anglo-Saxon  poetry,  in 
which  she  describes  the  minstrels  :  — 

"  The  minstrels  would  sing,  and  the  people  would 
listen ;  and  if  the  monks  had  listened  too,  they 
would  sometimes  have  heard  the  irregularities  of 
their  lives  chanted  for  the  derision  of  the  populace. 
For  the  bards  assumed  perfect  independence  in 
their  choice  of  themes ;  liberty  of  the  lyre  seems 
to  have  been  what  liberty  of  the  press  is  in  these 
days.  We  can  imagine  the  excitement  in  some 
quaint  village,  when  the  harp  of  one  of  these 
strollers  was  heard  ;  how  men  and  women  would 
leave  their  work,  and  listen  to  these  ballads. 
Those  who  have  seen  the  magnetic  effect  of  a  hand- 
organ  on  village  children,  may  have  some  idea  of 
it ;  if  the  organ-grinder  were  also  a  famous  story- 
teller, the  effect  would  be  greater.  And  this  is 
something  like  what  these  ballad  singers  were  to 


50  LUCY  LAECOM. 

oui*  elder  brethren  of  Angle-land,  in  th^  childhood 
of  civilization." 

What  excellent  advice  this  is  to  girls,  on  the 
subject  of  their  compositions,  —  "  Get  rid,  if  you 
can,  of  that  formal  idea  of  a  composition  to  write, 
that  stalks  like  a  ghost  through  your  holiday  hours. 
Interest  yourself  in  something,  and  just  say  your 
simple  say  about  it.  One  mistake  with  beginners 
in  writing  is,  that  they  think  it  important  to  spin 
out  something  long.  It  is  a  great  deal  better  not 
to  write  more  than  a  page  or  two,  unless  you  have 
something  to  say,  and  can  write  it  correctly." 

The  recitations  in  her  class-room  were  of  an  un- 
conventional character.  Dealing  with  topics  in  the 
largest  and  most  interesting  way,  she  often  used  up 
the  time  in  discussion,  so  that  the  girls  who  did  not 
know  their  lessons  sometimes  took  advantage  of 
this  peculiarity  by  asking  questions,  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  needlessly  prolonging  her  explanation. 
It  was  often  a  joke  among  the  scholars  that  she 
did  not  know  where  the  lesson  was ;  but  so  soon  as 
she  found  the  place,  she  made  clear  the  portion 
assigned,  and  brought  all  her  knowledge  to  bear 
so  fully  on  the  subject,  that  the  scholars  caught 
glimpses  of  unexi^lored  fields  of  thought,  which 
were  made  to  contribute  something  to  illustrate  the 
theme  in  hand. 

She  did  more  for  the  girls  than  by  simply  teach- 
ing them  in  the  class-room.  She  enlarged  their 
intellectual  life  by  founding  a  jjaper,  called  "  The 
Rushlight,"  by  which  they  not  only  gained  confi- 


LIFE  AT  NOBTON.  51 

dence,  but  centralized  the  literary  ability  of  the 
school.  She  explained  the  origin  of  the  paper 
thus  :  "  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  glanced  over  the 
bright  things  from  the  pile  of  compositions  that 
rose  before  me  semi-weekly,  '  Why  cannot  we  have 
a  paper  ? '  I  said  it  to  the  girls,  and  to  the  teachers 
also,  and  everybody  was  pleased  with  the  idea." 
She  also  fomided  the  Psyche  Literary  Society,  to 
stimulate  the  sirls'  studies  in  literature  and  art. 

Another  element  in  her  power  as  a  teacher  was 
her  personal  interest  in  the  girls.  It  was  not 
solely  an  intellectual  or  literary  interest,  but  she 
thought  of  their  characters  and  religious  training. 
To  one  of  the  girls  she  wrote,  "  I  never  felt  it  an 
interruption  for  you  to  come  into  my  room ;  how 
we  used  to  talk  about  everything!  "  When  they 
were  in  trouble,  they  came  naturally  to  her  with 
their  confidences.  She  was  sometimes  called 
"Mother  Larcom,"  and  she  earned  the  title,  for 
she  acted  like  a  mother  to  the  homesick  girl,  and 
quieted  by  her  gentle  persuasiveness  the  tears  of 
repentance,  or  bitter  weeping  of  sorrow,  of  some 
of  the  more  unfortunate  of  her  pupils.  Writing 
about  one  of  the  girls  whose  religious  development 
she  had  watched,  she  said,  "  She  is  unfolding  from 
the  heart  to  God  most  openly,  now.  I  am  sure 
there  is  a  deep  life  opening  in  her.  I  have  rejoiced 
over  her." 

She  discovered,  through  their  moods  —  as  in  the 
case  of  one  who  was  crying  a  great  deal  —  or  by 
the  frequency  of  a  permitted  correspondence,  their 


52  LUCY  LARCOM. 

real  or  fancied  love-affairs.  After  winning  their 
confidence  she  could  wisely  advise  them.  Thus  in 
one  instance  she  wrote  :  "  If  such  intimacy  is  true 
friendship,  it  will  be  a  benefit  to  both ;  yet  it  is  not 
without  danger.  I  have  seen  the  severest  sufferings 
from  the  struggle  between  duty  and  feeling  in  such 
relations.  I  have  seen  life  embittered  by  reason 
of  the  liberty  allowed  to  a  cousinly  love,  left  un- 
watched.  It  is  hard  to  keep  the  affections  right  in 
quantity  and  quality.  But  I  need  not  say  that  a 
true  love  needs  no  limits  ;  it  is  only  falsehood  that 
embitters  every  sweet  and  pure  cup." 

When  the  girls  left  school,  they  carried  her  love 
with  them  ;  and  by  corresjiondence  and  visits  to 
their  homes,  where  she  was  always  a  welcome  guest, 
she  followed  them  through  the  deepest  experiences 
of  their  lives.  One  of  her  scholars  said,  "  If  I  were 
to  sum  up  the  strong  impression  she  made  upon  me, 
I  should  say  it  all  in  '  I  loved  her.'  "  Another 
wrote,  "  Miss  Larcom  was  to  me  a  peerless  star, 
unattainable  in  the  excellence  and  purity  of  her 
character.  She  stood  as  the  ideal  woman,  whom  I 
wished  to  be  like." 

When  death  invaded  a  home,  she  knew  how  to 

write :  — 

Norton,  October  7,  1855. 

.  .  .  Why  is  it  we  dread  the  brief  parting  of  death 
so  much  ?  Do  we  really  doubt  meeting  them  again  ? 
Will  they  have  lost  themselves  in  the  great  crowd 
of  immortals,  so  that  when  our  time  comes  to  fol- 
low them  we  cannot  find  them?     I  am  just  read- 


LIFE  AT  NORTON,  53 

iiiT^  for  the  first  time,  "  In  Memoriam,"  and  it  fills 
my  niind  with  these  questions.  I  think  I  should 
be  homesick  in  a  mansion  filled  with  angels,  if  my 
own  precious  friends  whom  I  loved  were  not  within 
call.  .  .  . 

The  followang  letter  shows  her  intimacy  with  the 
girls  :  — 

TO    MISS    SUSAN    HAYKS    WARD. 

Norton,  April  2,  1855. 

My  Dear  Susie,  —  I  find  it  almost  impossible  to 
feel  at  home  in  a  boarding-school ;  and  then  I  know 
I  never  was  made  for  a  teacher,  —  a  schoolmistress 
I  mean.  Still,  among  so  many,  one  feels  an  inspira- 
tion in  trying  to  do  what  is  to  be  done,  though  the 
feeling  that  others  would  do  it  better  is  a  draw- 
back. And  then,  at  such  a  place,  I  always  find 
somebody  to  remember  forever.  For  that  I  am 
thankful  for  my  winter's  experience.  There  are 
buds  opening  in  the  great  human  garden,  which 
are  not  to  be  found  at  our  own  hearthstone :  and 
it  is  a  blessed  task  to  watch  them  unfolding,  and 
shield  them  from  blight.  And  yet  what  can  one 
mortal  do  for  another  ?  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
helping,  or  blessing,  except  by  becoming  a  medium 
for  the  divine  light,  and  that  is  blessedness  in  it- 
self. 

It  seems  to  me  that  to  be  a  Christian  is  just  to 
look  up  to  God,  and  be  blessed  by  his  love,  and 
then  move  through  the  world  quietly,  radiating  as 
we  go.  .  .  . 


64  LUCY  LARCOM. 

The  develoi^raent  of  lier  own  religious  life  was 
marked  by  many  radical  changes.  She  was  no 
longer  satisfied  by  the  theology  in  which  she  had 
been  reared.  She  sought  new  foundations  for  her 
belief.  Her  classes  in  philosophy  led  her  into  the 
world  of  controversy.  Plato  was  constantly  by  her 
side,  and  she  refreshed  herself  by  reading  Coleridge's 
''  Aids  to  Reflection,"  from  which  she  gained  more 
nutriment  than  from  any  other  religious  book,  ex- 
cept the  Bible.  Swedenborg  taught  her  that  "  to 
grow  old  in  heaven  is  to  grow  young."  Sears's 
"  Foregieams  and  Foreshadows "  made  her  feel 
the  joy  of  living,  as  presented  in  the  chapter  on 
"  Home."  She  also  read  "  Tauler's  Sermons,"  and 
Hare's  "  Mission  of  the  Comforter." 

Interwoven  with  her  religious  thought  were  the 
life  and  influence  of  one  of  the  dearest  friends  she 
ever  knew,  Miss  Esther  S.  Humiston  of  Waterbury, 
Connecticut,  a  woman  of  rare  powers,  and  wonder- 
ful sweetness  of  character.  The  two  women  were 
not  unlike.  They  had  the  same  spiritual  longings, 
similiar  views  of  life,  and  equal  intellectual  attain- 
ments. Miss  Larcom  looked  up  to  Esther  for 
guidance,  and  such  was  the  i3erfect  accord  between 
them,  that  she  wrote  to  her  fully  about  her  deej)est 
thoughts,  and  most  sacred  experiences. 

In  the  spring  of  1858,  she  wrote  thus  to  Esther :  — 
*'  You  do  not  realize  how  very  unorthodox  I  am. 
I  do  not  think  a  bond  of  church-membership  ought 
to  be  based  upon  intellectual  belief  at  all,  but  that 
it  should  simply  be  a  union  in  the  divine  love  and 


LIFE  AT  NORTON.  55 

life.  Now  I  do  not  formally  belong  to  any  par- 
ticular church,  —  that  is,  I  have  a  letter  from  a 
little  Congregational  church  on  the  prairies,  which 
I  have  never  used,  and  I  know  not  how,  honestly,  I 
can.  For  should  I  not  be  required  virtuallj^  to  say 
I  believe  certain  things?  I  believe  the  Bible,  but 
not  just  as  any  church  I  know  explains  it,  and  so  I 
think  I  must  keep  aloof  until  I  can  find  some  band, 
united  simply  as  Christian,  without  any  "ism  "  at- 
tached. We  all  do  belong  to  Christ's  Church  who 
love  Him,  so  I  do  not  feel  lost  or  a  wanderer,  even 
though  I  cannot  externally  satisfy  others." 

TO    ESTHER   S.    HUMISTON. 

Beverly,  Mass.,  August  2d,  1858. 
...  I  regard  Christianity  as  having  to  do  with 
the  heart  and  life,  and  not  with  the  opinions  ;  and 
my  own  opinions  are  not  definite  on  many  points. 
The  disputed  doctrines  of  total  depravity,  predes- 
tination, etc.,  with  some  of  those  distinctly  called 
"  evangelical,"  such  as  the  atonement,  and  the 
duration  of  suffering  after  death,  I  find  more  and 
more  difficulty  in  thinking  about ;  so  that  I  cannot 
yet  say  what  "  views  "  I  "  hold."  There,  —  wiU  you 
be  my  "  sister  confessor  "  ?  As  I  see  things  now, 
the  "  atonement "  is  to  me,  literally,  the  "  atone- 
ment,"—  our  fallen  natures  lifted  from  the  earthly 
by  redeeming  love,  and  brought  into  harmony  with 
God ;  Jesus,  the  Mediator,  is  doing  it  now,  in 
every  heart  that  receives  Him,  and  I  think  our 
faith  should  look  up  to  Him  as  He  is,  the  living 


66  LUCY  LARCOM. 

Redeemer,  and  not  merely  back  to  the  dead  Christ, 
—  for  "He  is  not  dead."  Then,  as  to  the  future 
state  of  those  who  die  unrepentant :  after  probing 
my  heart,  I  find  that  it  utterly  refuses  to  believe 
that  there  is  any  corner  in  God's  universe  where 
"  hope  never  comes."  There  must  be  suffering, 
anguish,  for  those  who  choose  sin,  so  long  as  they 
choose  it ;  but  can  a  soul,  made  in  the  image 
of  God,  who  is  Light,  choose  darkness  forever? 
There  is  but  one  God,  whose  is  the  "  kingdom, 
the  power,  and  the  glory,  forever  and  ever ;  "  is 
there  any  depth  of  darkness,  which  this  sovereign 
radiance  shall  not  at  last  pierce?  I  know  the 
Bible  testimony,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  the  inmost 
meaning,  even  of  those  fearfully  denunciatory  pas- 
sages, would  confirm  this  truth.  Now,  you  can 
imagine  how  these  sentiments  would  be  received 
by  an  Orthodox  Church.  .  .  . 

TO     THE    SAME. 

Norton,  September  2,  1860. 
...  I  enjoyed  being  with  my  friends.  I  told  you 
that  they  were  Universalists,  but  theirs  is  a  better- 
toned  piety  than  that  of  some  Orthodox  friends. 
Still,  there  was  a  want  in  it,  a  something  that  left 
me  longing ;  it  was  as  if  they  were  looking  at  the 
sunlit  side  of  a  mountain,  and  never  thought  of 
the  shadows  which  must  be  beyond.  The  mystery 
of  life  is  in  its  shadows,  and  its  beauty,  in  great 
part,  too.  There  is  n't  shadow  enough  in  Univer- 
salism  to  make    a  comprehensible   belief   for   me, 


LIFE  AT  NORTON.  57 

And  yet  I  believe  there  is  no  corner  of  God's  uni- 
verse where  His  love  is  not  brooding,  and  seeking 
to  penetrate  the  darkest  abyss.  .  .  . 

The  question  about  her  marriage  was  definitely 
settled  while  she  was  at  Norton.  She  decided,  in 
the  first  place,  on  general  grounds,  that  it  woiild  be 
best  for  her  not  to  marry.  There  were  various 
reasons  for  this.  She  had  many  premonitions  of 
the  breaking  down  of  her  health,  which  finally 
came  in  1862,  when  she  had  to  give  up  teaching ; 
and  owing  to  some  exaggeration  of  her  symptoms 
—  for  at  times  she  felt  that  her  mind  might  give 
way  —  she  thought  it  unwise  for  her  to  take  up 
the  responsibilities  of  matrimony.  In  addition  to 
this,  she  grew  fond  of  her  independence,  and  as 
her  ability  asserted  itself,  she  seemed  to  see  before 
her  a  career  as  an  authoress,  which  she  felt  it  her 
duty  to  pursue.  Special  reasons,  of  course,  one 
cannot  go  into  fully,  though  there  are  some  fea- 
tures of  them  that  may  be  mentioned ;  to  Esther 
she  stated  an  abundantly  sufficient  one,  —  "I  am 
almost  sure  there  are  chambers  in  my  heart  that 
he  could  not  unlock."  She  also  differed  radically 
from  her  lover  on  the  subject  of  slavery.  Her 
feelings  as  an  abolitionist  were  so  strong  that  she 
knew  where  there  was  such  a  division  of  senti- 
ments a  household  could  not  be  at  peace  within 
itself.  This  difference  of  opinion  concerning  all 
the  questions  that  culminated  in  the  Civil  War 
resulted  in  a  final  refusal,  which  afterwards  found 


68  LUCY  LARCOM. 

public  expression  in  her  noted  poem,  "A  Loyal 
Woman's  No,"  an  energetic  refusal  of  a  loyal 
woman  to  a  lover  who  upheld  slavery  :  — 

"Not  yoiirs,  — because  you  are  not  man  enough 
To  grasp  your  country's  measure  of  a  man, 
If  such  as  you,  when  Freedom's  ways  are  rough, 
Cannot  walk  in  them,  —  learn  that  women  can !  " 

The  poem  was  not  written  entirely  out  of  her 
own  experience.  In  making  a  confession  about 
it  to  a  friend,  she  says,  "  I  have  had  a  thousand 
tremblings  about  its  going  into  print,  because  I  feel 
that  some  others  might  feel  hurt  by  the  part  that 
is  not  from  my  own  experience.  If  it  is  better  for 
the  cause,  let  me  and  those  old  associations  be  sac- 
rificed." The  publication  of  the  poem  was  justi- 
fied by  the  way  it  was  received  everywhere.  It 
was  quoted  in  the  newsj^apers  all  over  the  North. 
An  answer  was  printed  in  "  The  Courier,"  called 
"  A  Young  Man's  Reply."  This  interested  Miss 
Larcom,  and  she  referred  to  it  as  "  quite  satisfac- 
tory, inasmuch  as  it  shows  that  somebody  whom 
the  coat  fitted  put  it  on !  If  it  does  make  unmanly 
and  disloyal  men  wince,  I  am  glad  I  wrote  it." 

TO    ESTHER    S.    HUMISTON. 

Norton,  June  1,  1858. 
...  I  shall  probably  never  marry.  I  can  see 
reasons  why  it  would  be  unwise  for  me ;  and  yet  I 
will  freely  tell  you  that  I  believe  I  should  have 
been  very  happy,  "  if  it  might  have  been."  A 
true  marriage  (^the  is  the  word  I  should  have  used) 


LIFE  AT  NORTON.  59 

IS  the  highest  state  of  earthly  happiness,  —  the  flow- 
ing of  the  deepest  life  of  the  soul  into  a  kindred 
soul,  two  spirits  made  one,  —  to  be  a  double  light 
and  blessing  to  other  souls  has,  I  doubt  not,  been 
sometimes,  though  seldom,  realized  on  earth.  .  ,  . 

This  touch  of  real  romance  in  her  life  shows 
that  she  had  a  woman's  true  nature,  and  that  she 
did  not  escape  the  gentle  grasping  of  the  divine 
passion,  though  she  shook  herself  free  from  it, 
deciding-  that  it  was  better  for  her  to  walk  alone. 
Some  lines  of  her  poem,  "  Un wedded,"  suggest  the 
reasons  for  her  decision  :  — 

"  And  here  is  a  womai!  who  understood 

Herself,  her  work,  and  God's  will  with  her, 
To  gather  and  scatter  His  sheaves  of  good. 

And  was  meekly  thankful,  though  men  demur. 

"  Would  she  have  walked  more  nobly,  think. 
With  a  man  beside  her,  to  point  the  way, 
Hand  joining  hand  in  the  marriage  link  ? 
Possibly,  Yes  :  it  is  likelier,  Nay." 

TO     MISS     ESTHER    S.    HUMISTON. 

Norton,  January  15,  1859. 
.  .  .  The  books  came  through  the  post-office, 
with  the  note  separate ;  they  were  brought  to  me 
while  I  was  having  a  class  recite  logic  in  my  room, 
—  the  dryest  and  most  distasteful  of  all  subjects  to 
me,  but  it  is  a  select  class,  and  that  makes  up  for 
the  study.  The  young  ladies  who  compose  it  are 
on  quite  familiar  terms  with  me,  and  when  the 
messenger  said,  "  Three  books  and  two  letters  for 


60  LUCY  LARCOM. 

Miss  Larcom,"  their  curiosity  was  greatly  excited, 
and  there  was  so  much  sly  peeping  at  corners  and 
picking  at  strings  that  they  were  not,  on  the  whole, 
very  logical.  They  asked  to  hold  them  for  me  till 
I  was  ready  to  open  them,  and  I  believe  in  letting 
■'  young  ladies  "  act  like  children  while  they  can, 
...  I  w^as  thinking  how  much  I  should  enjoy  a 
quiet  forenoon  writing  to  you,  when  the  words, 
"  Study  hour  out "  —  accompanied  the  clang  of  the 
bell,  and  a  Babel  of  voices  broke  into  the  hall  out- 
side my  door. 

I  am  trying  not  to  hear  —  to  get  back  into  the 
quiet  places  of  thought  where  your  letters,  open 
before  me,  were  leading  me,  but  I  cannot ;  there  is 
a  jar,  a  discord,  —  and  I  suppose  it  is  selfish  in  me 
not  to  be  willing  to  be  thus  disturbed.  How  I  long 
for  a  quiet  place  to  live  in  !  I  never  found  a  place 
still  enough  yet.  But  all  kinds  of  natural  sounds, 
as  winds,  waters,  and  even  the  crying  of  a  baby,  if 
not  too  loud  and  protracted,  are  not  noises  to  me. 
Is  it  right  to  feel  the  sound  of  human  voices  a 
great  annoyance  ?  One  who  loved  everybody  would 
always  enjoy  the  "  music  of  speech,"  I  suppose, 
and  would  find  music  where  I  hear  only  discord. 

TO    THE    SAME. 

Sabbath  evening. 
...   I  read  in  school  yesterday  morning,  some- 
thing from  the  "  Sympathy  of  Christ."     We  have 
had  some  very  naughty  girls  here,  and  have  had  to 
think  of  expulsion  ;  but  one  of  them  ran  away,  and 


LIFE  AT  NORTON.  61 

SO  saved  us  the  trouble.  How  hard  it  is  to  judoe 
the  erring  rightly  —  Christianly.  I  am  always 
inclined  to  be  too  severe,  for  the  sake  of  the  rest ; 
one  corrupt  heart  that  loves  to  roll  its  corruption 
about  does  so  much  evil.  I  do  not  think  that  a 
school  like  this  is  the  place  for  evil  natures  —  the 
family  Is  the  place,  it  seems  to  me,  or  even  some- 
thing more  solitary.  And  yet  there  have  been 
such  reforms  here,  that  sometimes  I  am  in  doubt. 
When  there  is  a  Christian,  sympathizing  heart  to 
take  the  erring  home,  and  care  for  her  as  a  mother 
would,  that  is  well.  But  we  are  all  so  busy  here, 
with  the  everythings.  I  am  convinced  that  I  have 
too  much  head-employment  altogether  ;  I  get  hardly 
breathing  time  for  heart  and  home  life.  .  .   . 

In  1854,  Miss  Larcom  published  her  iirst  book, 
—  "  Similitudes  from  the  Ocean  and  the  Prairie." 
It  was  a  little  volume  of  not  more  than  one  hundred 
pages,  containing  brief  prose  parables  drawn  from 
nature,  with  the  purpose  of  illustrating  some  moral 
truth.  The  titles  of  the  Similitudes  suggest  their 
meaning :  "  The  Song  before  the  Storm  ;  "  "  The 
Veiled  Star  ;  "  "  The  Wasted  Flower  ;  "  and  "  The 
Lost  Gem."  Though  the  conception  was  somewhat 
crude,  yet  her  desire  to  find  in  all  things  a  message 
of  a  higher  life  and  a  greater  beauty,  showed  the 
serious  beginnings  of  the  poet's  insight,  which  in 
after  years  was  to  reveal  to  her  so  many  hidden 
truths.  She  characterized  the  book  as  "  a  very  im- 
mature affair,  often  entirely  childish."       * 


62  LUCY  LAECOM. 

Her  first  distinct  literary  success  was  the  writ- 
ing of  the  Kansas  Prize  Song,  in  1855.  When 
Kansas  was  being  settled,  the  New  England  Emi- 
grant Aid  Company  offered  a  prize  of  fifty  dollars 
for  the  best  song,  written  with  the  object  of  inspir- 
ine:  in  the  eniio-rants  the  sentiments  of  freedom. 
The  power  of  a  popular  melody  was  to  be  used  in 
maintaining  a  free  soil.  She  gained  this  prize ; 
and  her  stirring  words  were  sung  all  through  the 
West.  They  were  printed,  with  the  appropriate 
music  of  Mr.  E.  Norman,  on  cotton  handkerchiefs, 
which  were  given  away  by  the  thousand. 

"Yeomen  strong',  hither  throng, 

Nature's  honest  men ; 
We  will  make  the  wilderness 

Bud  and  bloom  again ; 
Bring  the  sickle,  speed  the  plough, 

Turn  the  ready  soil ; 
Freedom  is  the  noblest  pay 

For  a  true  man's  toil. 

*'  Ho,  brothers  !  come,  brothers ! 
Hasten  all  with  me  ; 
We  '11  sing  upon  the  Kansas  plains 
A  song  of  liberty." 

Her  next  little  book,  "  Lottie's  Thought-book," 
was  published  by  the  American  Sunday  School 
Union,  Philadelphia,  in  1858.  Not  unlike  the 
Similitudes  in  its  method  of  teaching  by  parables, 
it  gave  the  thoughts  of  a  clever  child,  as  they 
would  be  suggested  by  such  scenes  as  a  beautiful 
spring  morning  in  the  country,  "  when  glad  thoughts 
praise  Gsod ; "  the  first  snow,  typifying  the  purity 


LIFE  AT  NORTON.  63 

of  the  earth ;  or  the  thought  of  the  joy  of  living, 
in  the  chapter  "Glad  to  be  alive"  that  recalls  an 
exclamation  she  uses  in  one  of  her  letters,  "  Oh  ! 
how  happy  I  am,  that  I  did  not  die  in  childhood !  " 
These  little  books  are  like  the  inner  biography  of 
her  youth,  a  pure  crystal  stream  of  love,  reflecting 
the  sunlight  in  every  ripple  and  eddy. 

She  also  wrote  for  various  magazines,  notably 
"  The  Crayon,"  in  which  appeared  some  criticisms 
of  poetry,  especially  Miss  Muloch's,  and  some  of 
her  poems,  like  "  Chriemhild,"  a  legend  of  Norse 
romance.  The  only  payment  she  received  was  the 
subscription  to  the  magazine.  Her  famous  poem, 
"  Hannah  Binding  Shoes,"  was  first  printed  in  the 
"Knickerbocker,"  without  her  knowledge,  —  then 
a  few  months  later,  in  "  The  Crayon."  This  fact 
gave  rise  to  the  accusation  of  plagiarism  which, 
though  it  greatly  annoyed  her,  brought  her  poem 
into  general  notice.  Having  sent  the  poem  to  the 
"  Knickerbocker,"  but  not  receiving  any  answer 
about  its  acceptance,  she  concluded  that  it  had  been 
rejected.  She  then  sent  it  to  "  The  Crayon,"  where 
it  appeared,  but  in  the  mean  time  it  had  been 
printed  in  the  "Knickerbocker."  The  editor  of 
the  last-named  paper  wrote  a  letter  to  the  "  New 
York  Tribune,"  in  which  he  accused  Lucy  Larcom 
of  being  "  a  literary  thiefess,"  and  claimed  the 
"  stolen  goods."  In  answer  to  this.  Miss  Larcom 
wrote  immediately  a  reply  to  the  "  Tribune." 


64  LUCY  LARCOM. 

Norton,  Mass.,  February  13,  1858. 
To  THE  Editor  of  the  New  York  Tribuxe  : 

Sir,  —  Will  you  please  say  to  "  Old  Nick  "  that 
he  does  not  tell  the  truth.  His  statements  regard- 
ing me,  in  your  paper,  February  10,  are  not  cor- 
rect. Lucy  Larcom  is  not  a  "  literary  thiefess  ;  " 
"  Hannah  Binding  Shoes  "  was  not  written  "  fiv^e 
or  six  years,"  but  about  four  years  since.  I  have 
only  to  blush  that  I  wrote  it,  and  that  I  sent  it  to 
the  editor  of  the  "Knickerbocker." 

The  latter  was  done  at  a  time  when  it  seemed 
desirable  for  me  to  attempt  writing  for  pecuniary 
profit,  —  a  very  ridiculous  idea,  of  course,  —  and  I 
enclosed  the  poem  in  a  letter,  intimating  such  a  de- 
sire to  that  gentleman,  and  supposing  that  courtesy 
would  suggest  that  the  letter  should  be  answered, 
or  the  poem  returned.  As  neither  of  these  things 
was  done,  I  innocently  considered  it  my  own  prop- 
erty, and  sent  it  to  "  The  Crayon,"  as  an  original 
composition. 

I  hereby  reclaim  from  "  Old  Nick,"  my  "  stolen 
goods,"  which  he  has  inadvertently  advertised. 
Yours  truly,  LuCY  Larcom. 

She  wrote  rather  a  severe  letter  to  the  "  most 
honorable  Old  Nick  "  himself,  in  which  she  says, 
"  In  my  ignorance,  I  supposed  that  editors  were  as 
polite  as  other  people,  in  such  matters  as  answer- 
ing letters,  and  acknowledging  even  small  favors. 
I  am  sure  I  never  woidd  have  sent  you  a  poem,  if  I 


LIFE  AT  NOB  TON.  65 

had  supposed  you  would  one  day  have  accused  me  of 
stealing  it,  and  I  hereby  promise  with  sincere  peni- 
tence, never  to  do  so  again.  I  suppose  I  can  hardly 
look  for  the  coui'tesy  of  an  explanation  as  public 
as  your  accusation  has  been." 

She  also  wrote  an  explanation  to  Mr,  John  Du- 
rand,  the  editor  of  "  The  Crayon." 

TO    JOHN    DURAND. 

Norton,  February  12,  1858. 

Dear  Mr.  Durand,  —  "  Hannah  Binding  Shoes  " 
I  may  truly  say  is  "  a  poor  thing,  sir,  but  mine  own." 
I  should  hardly  have  supposed  that  the  identity  of 
so  humble  an  individual  would  be  thought  worth 
calling  in  question.  The  poem  was  written  four 
years  since,  and  was  sent  to  the  editor  of  the 
"  Knickerbocker  "  in  my  own  name,  but  as  I  re- 
ceived no  acknowledgment  from  him,  and  have 
never  seen  a  copy  of  the  paper  since,  I  supposed 
it  either  failed  to  reach  him,  or  was  not  accepted. 
Was  I  not  justifiable  in  sending  it  to  you  ?  I  had 
no  idea  that  it  had  been  published  before. 

Yours  truly,  Lucy  Larcom. 

"  Hannah  Binding  Shoes  "  was  set  to  music,  and 
became  very  popular.  Rev.  Samuel  Longfellow 
wrote  her,  "  I  wish  you  could  have  heard,  as  I  did 
the  other  evening,  '  Hannah '  sung  by  Adelaide 
Phillips."  Together  with  its  sequel,  "  Skipper 
Ben,"  it  recalled  an  incident  very  common  in  a 
New  England  sea-town,  where  ships  were  lost  and 


66  LUCY  LABCOM. 

lovers  never  returned,  where  every  home  had  In  it 
hearts  that  beat  for  those  out  at  sea,  and  where 
women  stood  on  the  shore  and  strained  their  eyes 
looking  for  a  sail.  In  these  verses,  as  in  all  her 
poetry  of  the  sea,  she  has  caught  the  dirge  in  the 
wind,  and  the  lonesome  sound  of  beating  waves  when 
the  skipper  "  faced  his  fate  in  a  furious  night." 

In  1859  Miss  Larcom  tried,  at  the  suggestion  of 
many  friends,  to  find  a  publisher  for  a  volume  of 
verses,  but  she  was  unsuccessful.  A  letter  from 
Mr.  Whittier  accompanying  the  manuscript  did 
not  win  Ticknor  and  Fields  to  her  side.  She  took 
a  very  sensible  view  of  her  discomfiture. 

TO   JOHN"    DURAND. 

Norton,  October  29,  1860. 
...  I  should  have  regarded  the  thought  of  pub- 
lishing as  premature  ;  but  most  of  my  friends  are 
not  artistic,  and  do  not  look  upon  my  unripe  fruits 
as  I  do.  What  I  have  written  is  at  least  genuine, 
sincere.  I  believe  it  is  in  me  to  do  better  things 
than  I  have  done,  and  I  shall  work  on  in  the  faith 
of  leaving  something  that  will  find  its  true  place  in 
the  right  time,  because  of  the  life  there  is  in  it. 
To  live  out,  to  express  in  some  way  the  best  there 
is  in  us,  seems  to  me  to  be  about  all  of  life.  .   .  . 

After  Miss  Larcom's  return  from  the  West,  the 
friendship  with  the  Whittiers  ripened  and  became 
a  factor  in  her  life.  The  gentle  sweetness  of  the 
poet's   sister  Elizabeth    soon  won   its  way  to   her 


LIFE  AT  NORTON.  67 

heart,  and  the  strength  of  the  man  greatly  impressed 
her.  They  grew  very  fond  of  her,  and  took  an  in- 
terest in  her  literary  work.  The  attachment  that 
Elizabeth  formed  for  her  was  based  on  a  most 
genuine  love.  In  one  of  her  letters  she  wrote, 
"  Dear,  dear  Lucy,  —  Let  me  thank  thee  for  all 
thy  love.  I  can  never  tell  thee  how  sweet  it  has 
been  to  me.  I  could  have  cried  to  think  of  thy 
loving  care  for  me."  Again  :  —  "I  wish  I  could 
see  thee  oftener.  I  need  thee.  I  feel  a  little  more 
rest  with  thee  than  with  most.  Thou  hast  done 
me  good  since  I  first  knew  thee."  The  two  lives 
mingled  and  blended  in  the  contact  of  companion- 
ship, for  refinement  of  feeling,  delicacy  of  thought, 
and  strength  of  moral  purpose,  were  characteristic 
of  both.  Mr.  Whittier  found  her  companionable, 
and  admired  her  sincerity  and  poetical  ability, 
which  he  recognized  very  early.  It  was  one  of 
Miss  Larcom's  greatest  pleasures,  while  at  Norton, 
to  run  off  and  spend  a  few  days  at  Amesbury  in 
the  household  that  she  loved.  What  Mr.  Whittier 
said,  she  knew  to  be  true,  —  "  Thee  will  always  find 
the  latchstring  out ;  "  and  when  away,  she  knew  she 
was  remembered,  for  Elizabeth  sent  her  word  that 
"  Greenleaf  has  just  filled  thy  blue  and  gold  vase 
with  the  yellowest  of  flowers." 

Here  is  a  letter  to  her,  from  Mr.  Whittier,  as 
early  as  1853. 

September  3,  1853. 

My  Dear  Friend,  —  I  thank  thee  for  thy  note. 
The  personal  allusion  would  be  flattering  enough, 


C8  LUCY  LAECOM. 

did  I  not  know  that  it  originated  in  a  sad  miscon- 
ception and  overestimate  of  one  who  knows  himself 
to  be  "no  better  than  he  shoukl  be."  It  is  a  way 
we  have.  We  are  continually  investing  somebody 
or  other  with  whatever  is  best  in  ourselves.  It 
does  not  follow  that  the  objects  themselves  are 
worth  much.  The  vines  of  our  fancy  often  drape 
the  ugliest  stumps  in  the  whole  forest. 

I  am  anxious  to  see  thy  little  book  in  print.^ 
Whatever  may  be  its  fate  with  the  public  at  large, 
I  feel  quite  sure  it  will  give  thee  a  place  in  the  best 
minds  and  hearts.  The  best  kind  of  fame,  after 
all.  Thy  friend,  J.  G.  Whittier. 

At  Mr.  Whittier's  suggestion,  she  used  to  sub- 
mit her  work  to  him  for  criticism  ;  and  he  always 
indicated  what  he  considered  faulty,  in  rhyme  or 
metre.  This  practical  training  in  the  art  of  verse- 
making  was  valuable  to  her.  She  continued  it  for 
many  years  until  she  felt  that  she  ought  to  be  more 
self-reliant.  Then  she  printed  without  consulting 
him,  and,  at  first,  he  reproved  her  for  it.  "  But," 
she  said,  "  you  have  taught  me  all  that  I  ought  to 
ask :  why  should  I  remain  a  burden  on  you?  Why 
should  I  always  write  with  you  holding  my  hand? 
My  conscience  and  my  pride  rebel.  I  will  be  my- 
self, faults  and  all." 

In  1855,  he  wrote,  "  I  have  said  in  my  heart,  I 
wonder  if  Lucy  Larcom  will  write  to  me,  as  she 
proposed?  I  should  love  to  have  her."  Their  cor- 
respondence continued  until  the  time  of  his  death. 

1  Similitudes- 


CHAPTER  IV. 

REFLECTIONS    OF   A    TEACHER. 

It  was  not  Miss  Larcom's  regular  habit  to  keep 
a  diary,  but  at  certain  times  she  recorded  her 
thoughts  in  private  note-books.  Her  object  in 
doing  this  was  to  cultivate  clearness  of  expression 
by  frequently  writing,  and  to  give  definiteness  to 
her  ideas  by  putting  them  down  in  black  and  white, 
thus  preserving  them,  either  for  immediate  use  as 
material  for  letters  to  her  friends,  or  for  her  own 
inspection  years  afterwards.  Long  intervals  of 
time  elapsed  between  the  periods  when  she  wrote 
in  her  diaries  ;  so  they  have  not  the  value  of  a  con- 
tinuous life-history,  but  are  interesting  as  records 
of  phases  of  her  thought  which  often  reflect  vividly 
the  conditions  in  which  she  lived. 

The  following  extracts  from  her  diary  have  been 
made  with  the  purpose  of  showing  how  she  was  in- 
fluenced by  the  circumstances  of  her  life,  and  how 
:leeply  she  entered  into  the  spirit  of  her  intellectual 
and  political  surroundings. 


c 


Norton,  May  4,  18G0.  Our  talk  has  been  of 
the  mystics  again  to-day.  AVith  all  the  vagaries 
into  which  some  of  them  wandered,  I  cannot  help 


70  LUCY  LAECOM. 

feeling  that  these  men  had  more  of  the  truth  than 
any  of  those  more  strictly  styled  philosophers. 
Consin  has  a  cool,  patronizing  way  with  all  systems 
that  rather  amuses  me  at  tunes.  What  he  says  of 
the  relation  of  ])liilosophy  to  religion  seems  very 
conceited :  that,  while  they  have  been  separated, 
philosophy  must  now  take  religion  by  the  hand, 
and  gently  guide  her  steps  to  the  light.  The  his- 
tory of  philosophy  would  rather  show  that  he  was 
making  a  guide  of  the  one  who  needed  to  be  led ! 
Certainly  it  must  be  so,  if  God  is  wiser  than  man. 

May  21.  Out  of  door  studies,  these  past  days, 
among  goldfinches,  orioles,  larks,  brown  thrushes, 
and  all  the  singing  brotherhood  ;  and  a  course  of 
lectures  on  natural  history,  to  help  out  the  classify- 
ing and  naming.  Better  living  than  among  philos- 
ophers. 

June  13.  These  weeks  that  have  been  spent 
over  a  discussion  of  Eastern  and  Western  mythol- 
ogies, have  allowed  little  time  for  reading  or  think- 
ing of  anything  else.  I  have  learned  to  value  the 
thoughts  of  thinkers,  and  to  perceive  the  difference 
between  them  and  pleasant  surface-writers.  I  ex- 
pected to  gain  much  from  Mrs.  Child's  "  History 
of  Religious  Ideas,"  and  I  have  found  it  full  of 
entertaining  and  instructive  facts,  told  in  a  very 
kind  and  impartial  way ;  but  hers  is  not  the  philo- 
sophic depth  of  Carlyle,  nor  the  broad  and  deep 
spiritual  insight  of  Maurice,  —  the  latter  always 
pours  light  into  the  windows  of  my  soul,  and  makes 
truth  seem  all  near  and  clear.     Mrs.  C.'s  work  is 


REFLECTIONS   OF  A    TEACHER.  71 

still  a  most  valuable  one,  because  it  makes  so  much 
comprelien  sible  that  had  been  shut  up  for  the  gen- 
eral reader,  and  such  a  spirit  as  hers  makes  every- 
thing that  she  writes  good  to  read.  This  reading 
and  writing  have  imj)ressed  me  more  fully  than 
ever  before  with  the  certainty  that  truth  is  one, 
radiating  from  one  source  through  all  manner  of 
mediums,  colored  and  distorted  by  all  sorts  of  error  ; 
yet  wherever  a  good  word  has  been  spoken,  there 
is  the  voice  of  God,  whether  the  speaker  were 
Christian  or  Pagan. 

June  20.  After  reading  the  addresses  at  the 
Music  Hall,  in  memory  of  Theodore  Parker,  and 
what  is  said  of  him  in  the  religious  papers,  it  seems 
to  me  a  great  relief  that  there  is  a  perfect  Judge 
of  human  character  and  human  life  above.  Neither 
friends  nor  foes  could  know  this  man  truly ;  his 
works  will  follow  him,  right  or  wrong,  for  he  wrote 
himself  in  innumerable  hearts,  with  all  the  energy 
of  confidence  in  his  own  views.  I  did  not  like  the 
tone  of  his  preaching  and  lecturing,  —  it  seemed 
to  me  often  dogmatic,  and  abusive  of  other  beliefs ; 
certainly  never  very  patient  with  what  he  did  not 
like.  Yet  the  noble  impulses  he  communicated, 
the  perfect  freedom  of  thought  which  he  advised, 
cannot  be  without  their  good  results.  The  fire  will 
try  his  work,  as  it  does  and  will  that  of  all  human 
workers,  to  prove  of  what  sort  it  is. 

August  12,  Gardiner,  Maine.  Now  in  the  seclu- 
sion of  this  little  bird's  nest  in  the  woods,  I  feel 
easy  and  free,  like  the  winds  that  sweep  through 


72  LUCY  LARCOM. 

pine  and  hemlock,  and  the  birds  that  go  singing  or 
silent  from  the  glen  to  the  orchard.  Heartseaso 
grows  here,  best  of  all  blossoms  ;  I  surely  did  not 
bring  it  with  me,  for  I  was  very  uneasy  at  home. 

August  14.  Leisure,  —  is  it  anything  to  be 
thankful  for,  or  not  ?  I  never  do  what  I  mean  to 
do,  nor  so  much,  as  when  I  think  my  time  all  occu- 
pied. This  vacation  is  almost  gone,  and  not  one  of 
the  achievements  I  had  planned,  in  the  way  of  writ- 
ing, is  executed.  It  is  something  to  rest,  but  not 
so  much,  if  one  feels  that  it  is  not  exactly  right  or 
necessary  to  rest ! 

August  18.  The  prospect  of  a  journey  to  the 
mountains  to-day.  There  is  a  thick  fog  from  the 
river,  but  the  birds  are  singing  through  it.  I  can 
scarcely  let  the  summer  go  without  giving  me  a 
glimpse  of  the  mountains. 

August  22.  Returned  last  night  after  a  very 
pleasant  visit  of  three  days.  It  rained  on  the  way, 
but  it  was  only  the  cooler  and  more  comfortable 
traveling  for  that ;  and  when  the  sun  came  out  in 
the  west  just  as  we  reached  the  top  of  a  ridge 
from  which  the  whole  long  mountain  chain  was 
visible  on  the  horizon,  I  felt  that  that  one  view 
was  enough  compensation  for  going,  and  that  first 
glimpse  I  shall  never  forget.  The  round  summit 
of  Blue,  and  the  bolder  ridges  of  Saddleback  and 
Abraham,  lifted  themselves  above  the  lower  eleva- 
tions that  would  be  mountains  anywhere  but  among 
mountains,  far  off  and  solemn  with  the  deepening 
purple  of  sunset,  and  over  them  the  sky  hung,  fiery 


BEFLECTIONS   OF  A    TEACHER.  73 

gold,  intermingled  with  shadow.  The  first  glimpse 
was  finer  than  anything  afterward,  though  I  rode 
up  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Sandy  River,  which  is 
like  a  paradise,  if  not  one,  recalling  ever  the  old 
words  of  the  hymn :  — 

"  Sweet  fields  arrayed  in  living  green, 
And  rivers  of  delight." 

"What  can  be  more  beautiful  than  green  meadow- 
lands,  bordered  by  forest-covered  slopes,  that  ever 
rise  and  rise,  till  they  fade  into  dim  blue  mountain- 
distances  ? 

I  climbed  one  mountain  half-way,  —  the  bluest 
of  the  blue,  —  and  so  called,  by  emphasis.  Mount 
Blue.  It  was  a  grand  view,  —  the  great  distant 
mountain  wall,  and  the  valleys  slumbering  safe  in 
its  shadow.  Yet  the  distant  view  is  always  more 
impressive,  more  full  of  suggestions  for  me  ;  and 
coming  back  to  the  first  point  of  observation,  I 
hoped  for  a  repetition  of  the  first  delight.  But 
the  far-off  ridges  were  closely  veiled  with  mist  and 
rain,  and  a  thunder-shower  swept  toward  us  from 
them,  across  the  wide  valley.  Yet  as  we  turned  to 
leave,  Mount  Blue  just  lifted  off  his  mist-cap.  for  a 
few  minutes,  as  if  to  say  good-by  ! 

Altogether,  it  is  a  most  charming  and  comfort- 
ing picture  for  future  remembrance  :  flowery  moun- 
tain-slopes, little  garden  patches  of  golden-rod, 
white  everlasting  and  purple  willow-herb,  under 
the  shade  of  maples,  and  firs,  and  graceful  hem- 
locks ;  and  glimpses  of  cottagers'  homes  on  hillsides 
and  by  running  streams.  My  eyes  are  rested,  and 
my  heart  is  glad. 


74  LUCY  LARCOM. 

August  24.  Beverly.  The  sail  down  the  Kenne- 
bec River  was  delightful,  and  I  took  a  wicked  sort 
of  pleasure  in  shutting  myself  up  from  the  crowd 
and  enjoying  it ! 

August  26.  Sabbath  day  memories  and  regrets 
—  how  unlike  everything  else  they  are  !  One  thing 
to  be  grateful  for,  in  a  Puritan  training,  is  that  it 
makes  one  day  in  the  week  a  thoughtful  one,  at 
least.  The  old  customs  we  may  not  keep  up,  — 
may  even  regard  them  as  foolish,  —  still,  there  is  a 
questioning  as  to  right  and  wrong  on  this  day,  which 
we  must  be  hardened  to  get  wholly  rid  of.  If  I 
have  lived  unworthily  for  a  week,  the  Sabbath 
quietly  shows  me  myself  in  her  mirror. 

Lately  I  have  heard  some  discussion  as  to  the 
name  and  manner  of  keeping  the  day.  "•  The 
Sabbath,"  they  say,  "  was  a  Jewish  mstitution,  not 
a  Christian  festival,  such  as  we  should  keep." 
But  I  believe  that  rest  is  still  the  noblest  idea  of 
the  day ;  the  old  Sabbath  was  a  type  of  Christian 
rest ;  not  constrained,  but  free,  full,  peaceful ;  so  I 
like  not  anything  that  disturbs  the  qiiict  of  the  day. 

September  17.  Whether  such  a  record  as  this  is 
a  useful  thing,  or  entirely  useless,  I  begin  to  question. 
I  don't  want  to  feel  interested  in  anything  which  is 
only  to  benefit  myself,  and  I  don't  want  to  write 
these  trifles  for  other  people's  eyes.  A  journal  of 
the  "  subjective  "  kind  I  have  always  thought  fool- 
ish, as  nurturing  a  morbid  self-consciousness  in  the 
writer ;  and  yet,  alone  so  much  as  I  am,  it  is  well 
to  have  some  sort  of  a  ventilator  from  the  interior. 


REFLECTIONS   OF  A    TEACHER.  75 

Letter-writing  is  a  better  safety  valve  than  a  jour- 
nal, when  we  write  to  those  we  can  trust,  and  this 
I  meant  to  be  a  sort  of  prolonged  letter,  a  mirror 
of  my  occupations  and  progress,  for  my  old  friend, 
Esther.  But  she,  I  fear,  will  never  read  it ;  she  is 
on  her  way  to  a  place  of  better  occupation,  and  I 
feel  that  the  first  stimulus  is  gone. 

Shall  I  stop  in  the  middle  of  my  book?  No,  I 
believe  not ;  for  I  think  it  will  be  indirectly  a  use- 
ful thing,  and  I  shall  write  just  when  I  feel  like  it, 
often  enough  to  keep  track  of  myself,  and  give 
account  of  myself  to  myself. 

Since  I  returned  to  school  I  have  read  —  well, 
not  much  ;  two  little  works  on  natural  history ;  I 
have  begun  Ruskin's  fifth  volume,  with  great  inter- 
est, and  Trench  on  the  Parables  for  my  Sunday 
class.  "  The  Limits  of  Religious  Thou2,ht "  I  am 
reading  with  a  pupil,  and  with  it  Maurice's  reply, 
"What  is  Revelation?"  My  impression  of  these 
two  writers,  so  far,  is  that  Maurice  is  a  much  more 
deeply  religious  man  than  Mansel ;  and  that  the 
latter's  logic  will  not  always  sustain  his  footing. 
I  do  not  like  logic  in  religion,  —  reason  is  not  al- 
ways logic ;  reason  seems  to  me  to  be  the  mind  wide 
open  —  no  faculty  numb  or  asleep  ;  and  to  that  state 
of  inner  being,  truth  must  come  like  sunshine,  and 
the  mysteries  which  cannot  be  explained  will  be  har- 
monized with  our  certain  knowledge,  in  such  light. 

September  22.  Morris's  Poems  have  come  to  me 
to-day,  by  mail.  I  have  just  glanced  through  the 
book,  and  find  myself   attracted  by  the  clearness 


76  LUCY  LAECOM. 

and  simplicity  of  the  songs  ;  the  most  beautiful  the 
most  familiar,  as  songs  should  be.  It  does  not 
strike  me  that  any  of  them  came  from  the  very  deep 
places  of  the  heart,  —  many  of  them  sound  as  if 
written  only  to  please,  and  as  if  the  highest  aim  of 
the  author  was  to  have  them  pretty  and  unobjec- 
tionable. I  've  written  things  in  that  way  myself 
sometimes,  and  I  don't  like  it. 

September  26.  I  know  I  have  n't  regarded  min- 
isters as  others  do,  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  there 
are  few  "  ministers  "  or  "  pastors  "  nowadays,  — 
real  ones,  —  such  as  the  apostolic  times  knew.  A 
"preacher"  does  not  mean  the  thing,  for  he  may 
preach  himself  only.  I  wonder  whether  the  rela- 
tions between  pastor  and  people  can  ever  be  again 
as  they  have  been?  People  are  becoming  their 
own  judges  and  guides  in  religious  things ;  this  is 
a  necessity  of  Protestantism,  I  think.  And  yet  my 
"  liberal  "  Mr.  Maurice  says  that  the  "  right  of 
jDrivate  judgment "  only  makes  every  man  his  own 
pope.  The  true  idea  of  a  church  has  not  yet  been 
shown  the  world,  — a  visible  Church,  I  mean,  —  un- 
less it  was  in  the  very  earliest  times ;  yes,  the  twelve 
disciples  bound  to  their  Lord  in  love,  to  do  his  work 
forever,  —  that  was  a  church,  —  a  Christian  family. 
But  then  they  had  no  system  of  theology  to  which 
all  were  expected  to  conform  ;  love  was  all  their  the- 
ology. And  then,  afterwards,  while  they  took  the 
wisest  and  best  as  teachers,  and  called  no  one  Mas- 
ter or  Head  but  Christ,  they  were  a  true  Church. 

I  don't  believe  we  can  look  upon  our  ministers 


BEFLECTIONS   OF  A    TEACHER.  11 

as  tlie  early  disciples  did  upon  Paul  and  John,  un- 
less they  have  the  spirit  of  Paul  and  John.  The 
ministiy  is  trifled  with  too  much  by  ministers 
themselves,  and  it  sometimes  seems  to  me  as  if  this 
was  so,  because  it  is  made  a  business. 

September  29.  "  Blessed  are  your  eyes,  for  they 
see,  and  your  ears,  for  they  hear."  This  is  the  bless- 
ing of  life  :  to  be  in  the  light  and  harmony  of  the  love 
of  God  and  reveal  it.  To  "  know  the  mysteries  " 
of  the  kingdom  of  Heaven,  —  what  is  it,  but  to  be 
in  God's  universe  with  a  soul  opened,  by  love,  to 
truth;  unto  such  only  "it  is  given."  Yet  we  have 
hearing  and  vision  and  the  spiritual  sense,  all  of 
us,  and  for  the  use  of  each,  or  misuse,  or  neglect, 
and  consequent  loss,  every  one  is  to  blame.  Oh, 
for  a  heart  always  opened ;  to  read  all  parables  in 
the  light  in  which  they  were  born ! 

November  10.  I  have  actually  forgotten  to 
write  for  months  in  this  book.  I  fear  me,  "my 
heart  is  nae  here."  I  have  lived  a.  good  deal  in 
the  past  week,  and  the  world  has  been  doing  a  great 
business,  —  our  country  in  particular.  The  Prince 
has  turned  the  heads  of  our  democratic  people,  and 
Republicans  have  chosen  a  President  at  last.  That 
is  glorious!  Freedom  takes  long  strides  in  these 
better  days.  The  millennium  is  not  so  far  off  as  we 
feared.  While  there  is  so  much  to  be  lived  outside, 
who  cares  for  the  little  self-life  of  a  journal  ?  But  I 
never  meant  it  to  be  a  "  subjective  "  one,  and  when 
it  has  been  so,  it  has  been  so  because  I  was  liviuir 
below  my  ideal.     Yet  this  shall  be  just  the  book 


78  LUCY  LAIiCOM. 

my  thoughts  shape  from  their  various  moods  ;  when 
the  thought  is  for  myself,  I  will  write  it,  and  when 
it  is  for  another,  I  will  write  it  too. 

"  Wliose  window  opened  towards  the  rising  sun." 

So  the  happy  pilgrim  rested,  knowing  that  as  soon 
as  there  was  light  anywhere,  he  should  have  the 
first  ray.  Strange,  that  every  Christian  sojourner 
should  not  seek  a  room  with  windows  opening  to 
the  dawn !  Some  of  them  seem  afraid  of  the  sun  ; 
they  choose  a  chamber  having  only  a  black,  north- 
erly outlook,  and  lie  down  saying,  "  What  a  dreary, 
miserable  world !  "  And  what  wonder  that  they 
should  grow  thin  and  sickly  —  plants  of  the  shade 
must  ever  be  so ;  the  soul,  as  well  as  the  body, 
needs  large  draughts  of  sunshine  for  vigorous  life. 

November  27.  Since  I  came  to  Beverly  I  have 
been  looking  over  "  Wilhelm  Meister  "  for  the  first 
time.  I  am  disappointed  in  it,  and  have  little  re- 
spect for  Goethe  as  a  man,  great  as  was  his  genius. 
Great  thoughts  he  had,  and  they  shine  like  con- 
stellations through  the  book ;  artistic,  no  doubt  he 
was,  but  everything  that  relates  to  principle  or 
right  feeling  is  terribly  chaotic,  it  seems  to  me. 
And  Wilhelm  is  an  embodiment  of  high-strung 
selfishness,  under  a  cloak  of  generosity  and  sjaon- 
taneous  good  feeling.  If  I  could  despise  any  man, 
it  would  be  such  a  one  as  he. 

December  9.  God  be  thanked  for  the  thinkers 
of  good  and  noble  thoughts !  It  wakes  up  all  the 
best  in  ourselves,  to  come  into  close  contact  with 


REFLECTIONS   OF  A    TEACHER.  79 

others  greater  and  better  in  every  way  than  we  are. 
Having  just  made  myself  the  possessor  of  "  Guesses 
at  Truth,"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  struck  a  new  mine,  or 
were  a  privileged  traveler  into  regions  hitherto  un- 
known, where  there  is  every  variety  of  natural  and 
cultivated  growth,  where  there  are  ever  recurring 
contrasts  of  scenery,  and  where  even  the  rocks  are 
not  barren,  but  glittering  with  veins  of  precious 
ore.  How  much  better  these  "  thinking  books  "  are 
than  any  "  sensation  books  "  of  any  kind,  prose  or 
poetry  I  They  are  the  true  intellectual  compan- 
ions. One  does  not  read  them,  and  put  them  by 
on  the  shelf,  to  be  read  again  one  of  these  days, 
perhaps,  —  but  they  are  wanted  close  at  hand,  and 
often. 

"  No  spring  nor  summer  beauty  has  such  g^raee 
As  I  have  seen  in  an  Autumnal  face." 

The  poet  Donne  wrote  so  of  the  mother  of  "  holy 
George  Herbert."  It  is  so  true  !  and  I  have  seen 
the  same.  It  would  be  worth  while  to  live  long, 
to  suffer  much,  to  struggle  and  to  endure,  if  one 
might  have  such  spiritual  beauty  blossom  out  of 
furrows  and  wrinkles  as  has  been  made  visible  in 
aged  human  faces.  Such  countenances  do  not 
preach,  —  they  are  poetry,  and  music,  and  irresist- 
ible eloquence. 

Christmas,  1860.  Two  or  three  books  I  have 
read  lately.  Mrs.  Jameson's  "  Legends  of  the 
Madonna"  is  full  of  that  fine  appreciation  of  the 
deepest  beauty,  even  in  the  imperfect  creations  of 
art,  where  the  creation  had  in  it  the  breath  of  spirit 


80  LUCY  LARCOM. 

life,  so  peculiar  to  this  gifted  woman.  If  I  were 
going  to  travel  in  Europe,  I  should  want,  next  to  a 
large  historical  knowledge,  an  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  writings  of  Mrs.  Jameson,  to  appre- 
ciate the  treasures  of  mediaeval  art. 

Whittier's  "  Plome  Ballads,"  dear  for  friendship's 
sake,  though  not  directly  a  gift  from  him,  as  were 
some  of  the  former  volumes.  I  wonder  if  that  is 
what  makes  me  like  the  songs  in  the  "  Panorama," 
—  some  of  them  —  better  than  anything  in  this  new 
volume,  although  I  know  that  this  is  more  perfect 
as  poetry.  I  doubt  if  he  will  ever  write  anything 
that  I  shall  like  so  well  as  the  "  Summer  by  the 
Lakeside,"  in  that  volume  :  it  is  so  full  of  my  first 
acquaintance  with  the  mountains,  and  the  ripen- 
ing of  my  acquaintance  with  him,  my  poet-friend. 
How  many  blessings  that  friendship  has  brought 
me  !  —  among  them,  a  glimpse  into  a  true  home,  a 
realizing  of  such  brotherly  and  sisterly  love  as  is 
seldom  seen  outside  of  books,  —  and  best  of  all,  the 
friendship  of  dear  Lizzie,  his  sole  home-flower,  the 
meek  lily  blossom  that  cheers  and  beautifies  his 
life.  Heaven  spare  them  long  to  each  other,  and 
their  friendship  to  me  ! 

But  the  "  Ballads  "  are  full  of  beauty  and  of  a 
strong  and  steady  trust,  which  grows  more  firmly 
into  his  character  and  poetry,  as  the  years  pass 
over  him.  "  My  Psalm,"  with  its  reality,  its  ear- 
nest depth  of  feeling,  makes  other  like  poems, 
Longfellow's  "Psalm  of  Life,"  for  instance,  seem 
weak  and  affected.     I  like,  too,  the  keenness  and 


REFLECTIONS    OF    A    TEACHER.  81 

kindness  of  the  Wliitefield  poem,  in  which  he  has 
preserved  the  memory  of  a  Sabbath  evening-  walk 
I  took  with  him. 

Dr.  Croswell's  poems  contain  many  possibilities 
of  poetry,  and  some  realities  ;  but  there  always 
seems  to  me  a  close  air,  as  if  the  church  windows 
were  shut,  in  reading  anything  written  by  a  devout 
Episcopalian.  Still,  there  was  true  Christianity  in 
the  man,  and  it  is  also  in  the  book. 

December  27.  To-night  the  telegraph  reports 
the  evacuation  of  Fort  Moultrie  by  the  Federal 
troops  by  order  of  the  Executive,  and  the  burning 
of  the  fort.  There  's  something  of  the  "  spirit  of 
'76  "  in  the  army,  surely ;  South  Carolina  having 
declared  herself  a  foe  to  the  Union,  how  could  those 
soldiers  quietly  give  up  one  of  the  old  strongholds 
to  the  enemy,  even  at  the  President's  command  ? 

But  what  will  the  end  be  ?  Is  this  secession- 
farce  to  end  with  a  tragedy  ?  The  South  will  suf- 
fer, by  insurrection  and  famine ;  there  is  every 
prospect  of  it ;  the  way  of  transgressors  is  hard, 
and  we  must  expect  it  to  be  so.  God  grant  that, 
whatever  must  be  the  separate  or  mutual  sufferings 
of  North  and  South,  these  convulsions  may  prove 
to  be  the  dying  struggles  of  slavery,  and  the  birth- 
throes  of  liberty. 

It  is  just  about  a  year  since  "  Brown  of  Ossa- 
watomie  "  was  hung  in  the  South,  for  unwise  inter- 
ference with  slavery.  He  was  not  wholly  a  martyr ; 
there  were  blood-stains  on  his  hands,  though  no 
murder  was  in  his  heart.     He  was  a  brave  man 


82  LUCY    LARCOM. 

and  a  Christian,  and  his  blood,  unrighteously  shed, 
still  cries  to  heaven  from  the  ground.  Who  knows 
but  this  is  the  beginning  of  the  answer?  But 
that  judicial  murder  was  not  the  only  wrong  for 
which  the  slaveholdino-  South  is  now  brinointj  her- 
self  before  the  bar  of  judgment,  before  earth  and 
heaven.  The  secret  things  of  darkness  are  coming 
to  light,  and  the  question  will  be  decided  rightly,  I 
firmly  believe.  And  the  South  is  to  be  pitied,  as 
all  hardened  and  blinded  wrong-doers  should  be  ! 
I  believe  the  North  will  show  herself  a  noble  foe, 
if  foe  the  South  determines  to  make  her. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    BEGINNING   OF    THE   WAR. 

January  20,  1861.  I  liave  run  over  the  birth- 
histories  of  the  nations  of  Europe,  in  their  chaotic 
rise  from  bai'barism ;  and  have  just  completed  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  Italian  mediaeval  history,  with 
Koeppen's  aid.  The  present  history  of  Italy  inter- 
ests me  greatly,  and  I  would  like  to  be  able  to  link 
the  present  with  the  past.  But  what  a  debatable 
ground  it  has  always  been,  and  how  unsparingly  it 
has  always  been  made  mince-meat  of,  by  all  in 
authority  there ! 

But  all  that  history  has  revealed  shows  no  more 
important  epoch  than  the  one  in  which  we  are  liv- 
ins:  at  this  moment,  in  our  unsettled  and  discordant 
Union.  I  hope  it  wiU  come  out  plain  and  positive, 
as  a  question  of  right  or  wrong  for  every  man  to 
decide.  It  is  so  already,  yet  all  will  not  see.  So 
I  hope  that  the  demon  of  slavery,  that  "  mystery 
of  iniquity,"  will  make  his  evil  way  evident,  that 
we  may  return  to  no  vile  compact  with  sin. 

February  28.  The  bluebirds  have  come!  and 
the  meadow-lark  has  sung  over  in  the  fields  behind 
the  garden,  these  two  or  three  mornings.  I  have 
dreamed  of  spring  these  many  nights,  and  now  it 
is  coming  —  coming  ! 


84  LUCY  LARCOM. 

What  a  blessing  dreams  are !  I  have  heard 
birds  sing,  in  bluer  skies  than  May  could  show ; 
doves  have  alighted  on  my  head  ;  violets,  such  as 
cannot  be  matched  in  any  meadows  for  perfect  tints 
and  fragrance,  have  blossomed  at  my  feet ;  have 
wept  for  joy  at  the  sublime  beauty  of  Alps  grander 
than  any  real  Alps,  —  which  1  would  yet  fain  see, 
though  I  shall  not,  with  these  eyes,  —  all  this  in 
my  winter  dreams.  Through  dreams,  we  must 
always  believe  in  a  deeper  and  more  perfect  beauty 
than  we  know.  The  world  is  lovely,  but  there  is  a 
lovelier,  else  we  could  not  see  what  we  do  in  sleep. 
The  glory  of  living  is  that  life  is  glorious  beyond 
all  our  possible  imaginations,  —  the  eternal  life,  — 
the  "glory  that  shall  be  revealed  "  in  us. 

March  2.  What  does  cause  depression  of  spirits? 
Heavy  head  and  heavy  heart,  and  no  sufficient  rea- 
son for  either,  that  I  know  of.  I  am  out  of  doors 
every  day,  and  have  nothing  unusual  to  trouble  me  ; 
yet  every  interv^al  of  thought  is  clouded  ;  there  is  no 
rebound,  no  rejoicing  as  it  is  my  nature  to  rejoice, 
and  as  all  things  teach  me  to  do.  We  are  strange 
phenomena  to  ourselves,  when  we  will  stop  to  gaze 
at  ourselves  ;  but  that  I  do  not  believe  in  ;  there 
are  pleasanter  subjects,  and  self  is  a  mere  speck  on 
the  great  horizon  of  life. 

A  new  volume  of  poems  by  T.  B.  Aldrich,  just 
read,  impresses  me  especially  with  its  daintiness 
and  studied  beauty.  There  are  true  flashes  of 
poetry,  but  most  carefully  trimmed  and  subdued, 
so  as  to  shine  artistically.    I  believe  the  best  poetry 


THE  BEGINNING    OF   THE   WAB.  85 

of  our  times  is  growing  too  artistic  ;  the  study  is 
too  visible.  If  freedom  and  naturalness  are  lost  out 
of  poetry,  everytliing  worth  having  is  lost. 

March  3.  Eternal  life  and  eternal  death  ;  what 
do  these  words  mean  ?  This  is  the  question  that 
eomes  up  again  and  again.  It  has  recently  been 
brought  up  by  those  whom  I  am  appointed  to 
instruct ;  and  the  question  with  its  answer,  brings 
new  and  fearful  responsibility  with  every  return. 
I  am  more  and  more  convinced  that  the  idea 
of  duration  is  not  the  one  that  affects  us  most : 
for  here  it  has  proved  that  those  who  are  least 
careful  about  what  they  are  in  heart  and  life,  are 
trying  hardest  to  convince  themselves  and  others 
that  the  ''doctrine  of  eternal  punishment"  is  not 
true.  By  making  themselves  believe  that  to  be 
the  all-important  question,  they  draw  off  their  own 
and  others'  attention  from  the  really  momentous 
one,  —  "  Am  I  living  the  eternal  life  ?  Is  it  begun 
in  me  now?  " 

And  now  I  see  why  I  have  questioned  whether 
it  was  right  in  me  to  express  my  own  doubts  of  this 
very  doctrine.  The  final  renovation  of  all  souls, 
their  restoration  to  life  in  holiness  and  love,  is  cer- 
tainly a  hope  of  mine  that  is  not  without  a  strong 
infusion  of  confidence ;  but  I  dare  not  say  it  is  a 
belief ;  because  both  reason  and  revelation  have 
left  it  in  deep  mystery  ;  and  the  expression  of  any 
such  belief  does  not  seem  to  me  likely  to  help 
others  much  ;  certainly  not  those  who  are  indolent 
or  indifferent  regarding  the  true  Christian  life. 


86  LUCY  LABCOM. 

Then  the  "  loss  of  the  soul  "  is  in  plain  language 
spoken  of  by  our  Lord  as  possible.  What  can 
that  mean,  but  the  loss  of  life  in  Him  ?  the  loss  of 
ennobling  aspirations,  of  the  love  of  all  good,  of 
the  power  of  seeing  and  seeking  truth  ?  And  if 
this  is  possible  to  us  now,  by  our  own  choice,  why 
not  forever  ?  —  since,  as  free  beings,  our  choice 
must  always  be  in  our  own  power  ? 

The  truth  that  we  must  all  keep  before  us,  in 
order  to  be  growing  better  forever,  is  that  life 
is  love  and  holiness  ;  death,  selfishness  and  sin  ; 
then  it  is  a  question  of  life  and  death  to  be  grap- 
pled with  in  the  deep  places  of  every  soul. 

March  5.  I  cannot  let  this  birthday  pass  with- 
out a  memorial  of  its  sun's  rising  and  setting  on 
flower-gifts  from  these  my  girl-friends:  a  wreath 
hung  on  my  door  in  the  morning,  and  a  bouquet 
left  in  my  room  at  night.  It  brings  spring  to  my 
spirit  earlier  than  I  expected ;  pleasant  it  is  to 
receive  any  token  of  love  ;  and  gifts  like  these 
come  so  seldom,  that  when  they  do  come,  I  am  sure 
they  mean  love.  And  with  them  comes  the  assur- 
ance of  a  deeper  summer-warmth,  —  the  arousing 
of  all  high  and  holy  feelings  in  the  deep  places  of 
the  soul  yet  winter-sealed.  "  My  shriveled  heart " 
shall  yet  "  recover  greenness."  I  could  not  feel 
this  "  deadly  cold  "  that  sometimes  pierces  me,  if 
incapable  of  warmth.  It  may  not  be  in  an  earthly 
clime  that  my  nature  shall  blossom  out  freely  and 
fully  into  heavenly  light ;  but  the  time  will  come. 

Yesterday   was   the   inauguration :    we   have   a 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE   WAR.  87 

President,  a  country :  and  we  are  "  the  Union "' 
still,  and  shall  so  remain,  our  President  thinks. 
But  I  doubt  whether  the  pride  of  slavery  will  ever 
bow  to  simple  freedom,  as  it  must,  if  the  self-con- 
stituted aliens  return.  There  is  a  strange  new 
chapter  in  the  world's  history  unfolding  to-day  ; 
we  have  not  half  read  it  yet. 

Sabbath,  April  14,  1861.  This  day  broke  upon 
our  country  in  gloom ;  for  the  sounds  of  war  came 
up  to  us  from  the  South,  —  war  between  brethren ; 
civil  war ;  well  may  "  all  faces  gather  blackness." 
And  yet  the  gloom  we  feel  ought  to  be  the  result 
of  sorrow  for  the  erring,  for  the  violators  of  na- 
tional luiity,  for  those  who  are  in  black  rebellion 
against  truth,  freedom,  and  peace.  The  rebels 
have  struck  the  first  blow,  and  what  ruin  they  are 
pulling  down  on  their  heads  may  be  guessed, 
though  not  yet  fully  foretold  ;  but  it  is  plain  to  see 
that  a  dai'k  prospect  is  before  them,  since  they  have 
no  high  principle  at  the  heart  of  their  cause. 

It  will  be  no  pleasure  to  any  American  to  remem- 
ber that  he  lived  in  this  revolution,  when  brother 
lifted  his  hand  against  brother  ;  and  the  fear  is, 
that  we  shall  forget  that  we  are  brethren  still, 
though  some  are  so  unreasonable  and  wander  so 
far  from  the  true  principles  of  national  prosperity. 
Though  the  clouds  of  this  morning  have  cleared 
away  into  brightness,  it  seems  as  if  we  could  feel 
the  thunder  of  those  deadly  echoes  passing  to  and 
from  Fort  Sumter.  But  there  is  a  right,  and  God 
always  defends  it.     War  is  not  according  to  His 


88  LUCY  LAB  COM. 

wish  ;  though  it  seems  one  of  the  permitted  evils 
yet.  He  will  scatter  those  who  delight  in  it,  and 
it  is  not  too  much  to  hope  and  expect  that  He  will 
uphold  the  government  which  has  so  long  been 
trying  to  avert  bloodshed. 

Another  unpleasant  association  with  this  day. 
I  went  to  the  meeting  expecting  and  needing  spirit- 
ual food,  and  received  only  burning  coals  and  ashes. 
There  was  a  sermon  (not  by  our  minister,  I  am 
glad  to  say)  to  prove  that  Satan  will  be  tormented 
forever  and  ever  ;  and  the  stress  of  the  argument 
was  to  prove  the  endlessness  of  his  punishment. 
The  text  was  taken  from  the  twentieth  of  Revela- 
tion, a  chapter  which  few  have  the  audacity  to 
explain ;  but  the  object  was  to  show  that "  eternal," 
in  its  highest  sense,  is  not  so  plainly  taught  in  the 
Bible,  as  "  eternal "  in  its  lowest  sense,  that  of 
duration.  Truly,  "The  wisdom  of  men  is  foolish- 
ness with  God  !  "  —  the  deep  and  sacred  truth  of 
eternal  life  lies  hidden  yet  in  the  words  of  Christ, 
for  him  who  will  understand.  It  seems  to  me 
wrong  to  preach  a  theoretical  sermon  like  this  to 
those  who  are  hungering  for  the  bread  of  life ;  who 
are  longing  to  come  nearer  to  the  Saviour,  and 
receive  His  spirit.  I  think  none  but  a  young  min- 
ister would  have  preached  so  ;  certainly,  a  warm- 
hearted Christian  could  not  have  treated  the  subject 
in  that  cold  argumentative  way.  As  it  was,  I  could 
only  pity  one  who  could  so  misinterpret  his  Master's 
words ;  he  must  be  yet  on  the  outer  threshold  of 
the  heart  of   Christ,  if  so  near  as  that,  and  not, 


THE  BEGINNING   OF  THE   WAR.  89 

like  the  Beloved  Jolm,  leaning-  on  His  bosom.  And 
I  grieved  for  the  "  hungry  sheep,"  who  looked  up 
and  were  not  fed.  But  if  such  sermons  drive  all 
hearers  to  the  word  itself,  refusing  human  inter- 
pretations, they  may  do  good.  Alas!  We  grope 
in  darkness  yet !  Man  is  blinded  to  God's  deep 
meaning  everywhere,  in  thought  and  in  life,  in  reli- 
gion and  in  government.  The  dark  ages  are  not 
wholly  past ;  nor  will  they  be,  until  all  fetters  of 
thought  and  limb  are  broken. 

Yet,  through  all,  the  birds  are  singing  with  the 
joy  of  sunshine  after  April  rain  ;  and  earth  is  beau- 
tiful and  bright,  beneath  the  promises  of  spring,  — 
written  on  soft  skies  and  sweet  west  winds.  The 
good  God  sits  yet  upon  His  throne  of  love ! 

April  21.  The  conflict  is  deepening ;  but  thanks 
to  God,  there  is  no  wavering,  no  division,  now,  at 
the  North !  All  are  united,  as  one  man  ;  and  from 
a  peaceful,  unwarlike  people,  we  are  transformed 
into  an  army,  ready  for  the  battle  at  a  moment's 


warning. 


The  few  days  I  have  passed  in  Boston  this  week 
are  the  only  days  in  which  I  ever  carried  my  heart 
into  a  crowd,  or  hung  around  a  company  of  soldiers 
with  anything  like  pleasure.  But  I  felt  a  soldier- 
spirit  rising  within  me,  when  I  saw  the  men  of  my 
native  town  armed  and  going  to  risk  their  lives  for 
their  country's  sake ;  and  the  dear  old  flag  of  our 
Union  is  a  thousand  times  more  dear  than  ever 
before.  The  streets  of- Boston  were  almost  cano- 
pied with  the  stars  and  stripes,  and  the  merchants 


90  LUCY  LABCOM. 

festooned  their  shops  with  the  richest  goods  of  tlie 
national  colors. 

And  now  there  are  rumors  of  mobs  attacking 
our  troops,  of  bridges  burnt,  and  arsenals  exploded, 
and  many  lives  lost.  The  floodgates  of  war  are 
opened,  and  when  the  tide  of  blood  will  cease  none 
can  tell. 

May  6.  Through  the  dark  and  lurid  atmosphere 
of  war  the  light  of  "  Nature's  own  exceeding  peace" 
still  softly  falls  on  the  earth.  The  violets  have 
opened  their  blue  eyes  by  the  roadside ;  the  saxi- 
frage fringes  the  ledges  with  white ;  and  the  arbu- 
tus, the  Pilgrim's  may  flower,  blossoms  on  the  hills 
away  from  here  ;  we  have  no  hillsides  for  it  to  grow 
upon,  but  I  had  some  on  May-day,  from  the  hills 
of  Taunton.  How  strange  the  contrast  between 
these  delicate  blossoms  and  the  flaring  red  flower 
of  war  that  has  burst  into  bloom  with  the  opening 
of  spring! 

Every  day  brings  something  to  stir  the  deep 
places  of  the  soul,  and  in  the  general  awakening  of 
life  and  liberty  it  may  be  that  every  heart  feels 
its  own  peculiar  sorrow  and  happiness  more  keenly. 
There  is  a  deeper  life  in  every  breath  I  draw ;  and 
messages  from  distant  friends  seem  more  near  and 
touching.  One  day,  from  one  of  the  most  beloved 
and  honored,  comes  a  kind  word  for  my  poor  efforts 
at  poetry ;  almost  a  prophecy  of  some  blessed  days 
of  summer  life  among  the  mountains  by  and  by, 
■ —  and  a  holy  benediction,  "  God  bless  thee,  and 
keep  thee ! "  that  fell  upon  my  heart  like  the  first 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE   WAR.  91 

ray  of  some  new  and  unknown  morning.  All  life 
seemed  green  and  glowing  with  a  freshened  trust. 
God  is,  and  goodness  is ;  and  true  hearts  are,  for- 
ever! There  is  nothing  to  doubt,  even  in  these 
dark  days ! 

Then,  the  next  day,  a  message  from  dear  Esther 
(she  could  not  write  it  herself)  to  say  that  she  is 
dying,  and  wants  to  hear  from  me  again.  And  to 
think  that  she  had  been  drooping  all  these  spring- 
days,  while  I  have  been  too  full  of  occupation 
with  the  stir  of  the  times  to  write !  But  she  says 
my  words  have  always  been  good  for  her,  and 
surely  few  have  blessed  me  by  life  and  thought  as 
she  has.  Heaven  will  have  one  bond  for  my 
heart,  closer  than  any  yet.  I  am  glad  that  she  can 
lie  down  in  peace,  before  the  horrible  scenes  of 
bloodshed,  which  only  a  miracle  can  now  avert, 
shall  be  enacted. 

May  9.  I  had  set  myself  to  reading  Maury's 
"Physical  Geography  of  the  Sea,"  after  a  long  de- 
ferring ;  but  now  that  he  has  come  out  as  a  rank 
rebel  against  his  country,  I  cannot  feel  any  interest 
in  his  theories,  ingenious  as  they  are  said  to  be. 
Like  poor,  wise,  fallen  Bacon,  his  ideas  may  prove 
something  to  the  world,  "  after  some  years  have 
passed  over,"  but  one  is  not  fond  of  being  taught 
by  traitors. 

May  15.  A  glimpse  into  a  heart  which  has  al- 
ways been  closed,  both  to  God  and  man,  —  what 
a  chaos  it  discloses  !  Yet  with  all  the  elements  of 
order  there,  it  is  like  the  promise  of  a  new  creation. 


92  LUCY    LAECOM. 

Such  a  glimpse,  siicli  a  lialf -unveiling,  one  has  given 
me  to-day,  out  of  a  soul-deep,  long-repressed  long- 
ing for  "  something  to  love  !  "  Ah,  that  sorrowful 
need  of  every  woman's  heart,  especially ;  yet  more 
joyful  than  sorrowful,  because  the  longing  shows  the 
fulfillment  possible,  —  yes,  certain.  In  the  heavenly 
life,  w^hich  such  aspirations  prophesy,  there  is  love 
abounding,  to  give  and  to  receive.  And  I  am 
thankful  for  one  more  to  love. 

May  20.  Esther  dead  !  Gone  home  two  days 
before  I  heard  or  dreamed  of  it !  But  since  she 
has  gone  home, —  since  it  is  only  a  glorious  release 
for  her,  —  I  will  not  let  a  thought  of  repining  sully 
the  gladness  I  ought  to  share  with  her.  It  is  only 
that  one  who  has  always  lived  near  the  Holiest  One 
is  now  called  nearer  still.  I  have  known  her  only 
in  Him,  and  there  I  know  her  and  love  her  still. 

May  22.  They  write  to  me  of  her  funeral,  of 
the  white  flowers  beside  her  head,  and  of  her  own 
lilies  of  the  valley  strewn  over  her  in  the  grave 
by  one  who  knew  how  she  loved  them.  Everything 
that  would  have  made  her  hajspy,  had  her  eyes  been 
open  to  see,  and  her  ears  to  hear.  They  sang  the 
hymns  she  loved,  "  Rock  of  Ages,"  and  "  I  would 
not  live  alway,"  and  "Thy  will  be  done."  And 
my  dear  friend  is  free !  —  her  soul  has  blossomed 
into  heavenly  light !  I  told  her  once  that  this  book 
was  for  only  her  to  see ;  I  do  not  like  my  thoughts 
when  I  think  them  for  myself  alone  ;  and  there  is 
no  other  friend  who  would  care  as  she  cared.  Will 
she  read  them  now? 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    WAB.  93 

May  27.  This  is  the  gala  week  of  spring.  None 
of  the  early  flowers  have  quite  faded,  and  the  apple- 
trees  are  in  full  bloom,  while  elms  and  maples  are 
just  wearing  their  lightest  drapery  of  green,  so 
tardily  put  on.  Soft  breezes,  sweet  melody  from 
many  birds,  clear  sunshine,  not  yet  too  warm,  — 
all  things  are  just  in  that  state,  when,  if  we  could 
wisb  for  a  standstill  in  nature,  we  should. 

And  Esther  has  been  one  week  in  lieaven !  It 
seems  to  me,  sometimes,  as  if  some  new  charm  was 
added  to  cloud  and  sunshine,  and  spring  blossoms, 
since  she  went  away ;  as  if  it  were  given  me  to  see 
all  things  clearer  for  her  clearer  vision ;  she  would 
speak  to  me,  if  she  could. 

Lectures  these  few  days  on  historical  women. 
Paula,  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  Madame  de  Mainte- 
non,  thus  far.  Paula,  the  friend  of  St.  Jerome,  and 
the  woman  whom  the  speaker  made  to  illustrate 
friendship,  pleased  me  most,  as  presenting  a  higher 
ideal  than  either  of  the  others.  Christianity  gave 
woman  the  privilege  of  a  pure  friendship  with  man ; 
before  unknown,  we  are  told.  It  is  one  of  the  no- 
blest gifts  of  religion,  and  I  wish  people  believed  in 
it  more  thoroughly.  But  only  a  truly  elevated  and 
chastened  nature  can  understand  real  friendship,  — 
not  a  Platonic  ideal  only,  though  that  is  elevated, 
let  who  will  sneer  at  it :  but  a  drawing  of  the  no- 
blest souls  together,  and  to  the  Soid  of  souls,  for 
the  highest  ends.  This  is  Christian  friendship ; 
union  in  Christ  for  all  beauty,  all  purity,  all  true 
and  noble  life,  which  He  illustrated  in  His  own 


94  LUCY    LAECOM. 

glorious  life  and  death,  and  of  which  He  is  now 
the  inspiring  power.     ''  We  are  complete  in  Him." 

Yes,  I  am  sure  that  it  is  in  drawing  near  to  Him 
that  I  feel  the  loveliness  of  such  beauty  as  that 
into  which  the  world  now  blossoms ;  for  is  not  He 
the  Lord  of  nature,  and  also  my  Lord  and  Friend  ? 
And  through  His  great  love  for  us,  I  see  the  ideal 
of  all  true  human  love.  "  As  I  have  loved  you," 
He  said,  "  so  must  we  love  each  other,  with  tender- 
ness, forbearance,  generosity,  and  self-sacrifice." 

Such  friendship  is  possible,  is  eternal ;  and  it  is 
almost  the  most  precious  thing  in  the  soul's  inheri- 
tance. 

June  12.  I  have  been  free  for  a  few  days,  and 
have  taken  a  journey,  —  a  flying  tour  among  some 
of  my  friends.  How  it  quieted  me,  to  be  with  my 
peace-loving  f I'iends  in  these  wild  times  of  war ! 

There  are  some  friends  whose  presence  is  encour- 
agement in  all  that  is  good,  whom  to  look  uj)on  is 
to  grow  stronger  for  the  truth.  There  are  homes, 
too,  over  which  saintly  memories  hang,  making  all 
within  and  around  them  sacred,  blending  earth 
with  heaven  by  holy  sympathies.  How  blessed  I 
am,  to  know  such  friends,  to  enter  such  homes  as 
these !  Sometimes  I  can  truly  say,  "  My  cup  run- 
neth over ! " 

June  14.  Still  the  same  old  weariness  of  study ; 
"  weariness  of  the  flesh."  Books  are  treasures,  but 
one  may  work  among  treasures  even,  digging  and 
delving,  till  there  is  little  enjoyment  in  them. 
And  the  greater  pain  is,  that,  by  becoming  numb 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE   WAR.  95 

to  the  beautiful  and  true,  in  any  form,  one  does 
not  feel  its  power  entirely,  anywhere.  So  I  felt 
this  morning,  which  I  stole  from  my  books.  I  sat 
on  a  ledge  in  a  distant  field,  all  around  me  beauti- 
ful with  June,  and  no  sight  or  sound  of  human 
care  in  sight.  I  sat  there  like  a  prisoner,  whose 
chains  had  dropped  for  the  moment,  but  the 
weight  and  pain  of  them  lingered  still.  Yet  I 
began  to  feel  what  it  is  to  be  free,  and  how  sweet 
and  soothing  nature  always  is,  before  I  rose  to 
return.  I  think  it  would  not  take  me  long:  to  o^et 
accustomed  to  freedom,  and  to  rejoice  in  it  with 
exceeding  joy. 

June  23.  Weary,  weary,  too  weary  to  listen 
patiently  to  the  heavy  Sabbath  bells ;  far  too 
weary  to  sit  in  the  church  and  listen  to  loud  words 
and  loud  singing.  And  my  brain  is  too  tired  to 
let  my  heart  feel  the  beauty  of  this  quiet  day.  I 
only  know  that  the  balm  and  beauty  of  June  are 
around  me,  without  realizing  it  much.  But  rest 
will  come  soon,  up  among  the  mountains  with 
friends  who  love  noise  and  confusion  as  little  as  I 
do.  I  shall  be  at  peace.  A  blessing  will  come  to 
us,  among  the  hills. 

July  4.  Crackers  all  around  the  house  at  night. 
Fire-crackers,  torpedoes,  pistols,  and  bell-ringing, 
are  enough  to  make  one  sick  of  one's  country,  if 
this  is  the  only  way  of  showing  one's  patriotism. 
I  am  sure,  as  I  lay  last  night,  nervously  wide 
awake,  with  every  shot  startling  and  paining  me 
as  if  it  had  really  gone  through  my  brain,  I  felt 


96  LUCY    LARCOM. 

more  belligerently  disposed  toward  the  young  pa- 
triots than  toward  the  Southern  rebels!  But  if 
there  is  no  other  way  of  nursing  an  interest  in 
free  institutions  among  these  juvenile  republicans, 
there's  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  endure  the 
"  Fourth  of   Jvdy "  once   a  year,  for  the  general 

good. 

August  1.  Yesterday  I  visited  the  residence 
of  the  late  Hon.  Daniel  Webster,  at  Marshfield. 
There  was  much  that  was  interesting  to  see  in  the 
great  man's  home;  I  think  the  two  things  that 
pleased  me  most  were  the  portraits  of  his  mother, 
and  his  black  cook,  or  housekeeper.  The  latter 
was  a  fine  painting,  the  face  so  full  of  intelligence, 
gratitvide,  and  all  good  feelings  ;  and  there  was  an 
evidence  of  the  true  sympathy  and  home  comfort 
between  master  and  servant,  if  it  is  well  to  use 
those  words,  in  the  picture  itself,  the  care  with 
which  it  was  painted,  as  well  as  the  speaking  face. 
The  other  was  simply  an  old-fashioned  cut  profile, 
in  black  outline,  and  underneath  it  the  words,  "  My 
excellent  mother  —  D.  Webster." 

Out  of  doors,  the  wonderfvil  old  elm  was  the 
greatest  attraction,  with  its  branches  sweeping  the 
ground,  and  making  an  arbor  and  a  cathedral  at 
once,  before  the  threshold.  Webster  himself  — 
but  it  is  not  well  to  call  up  anything  but  pleasant 
memories  of  the  dead  ;  and  these  do  linger  about 
the  home  he  loved.  What  the  nation  thinks  of 
him  may  be  recorded  elsewhere. 

August  2.     I  visited  Plymouth,  placed  my  foot 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE   WAB.  97 

on  the  memorable  "  Plymouth  Eock,"  of  the  Pil- 
grims  (now  so  enclosed  and  covered  as  to  leave 
scarcely  space  sufficient  for  my  large  foot  to  rest 
upon),  looked  at  Mayflower  curiosities  in  the  hall, 
books,  shoes,  and  fans  of  the  olden  time,  and  more 
especially    pewter   platters,    which,    judging   from 
some    ancient   will    I   looked   over   in    the    Court 
House,  were  the  most  important  personal  property 
of  the  Puritans.      John  Alden's  well-worn  Bible 
was  open  at  the  date  of  publication,  1620,  so  he 
had  it  new  for  his  westward  voyage  ;  I  wondered 
whether  it  was  the  gift  of  some  friend  left  behind, 
or  his  own  purchase.     Miles  Standish's  long  rapier 
was  scarcely  more  interesting  to  me  than  the  big 
kettle  labeled  with  his  name,  which  might  have 
supplied  the  colony  with  dinner,  judging  from  its 
size.     Some  old  documents  relating  to  the  Quakers 
caught  my  attention  ;  one  especially,  wherein  Win- 
throp  demurred  from  signing  his  name  to  a  report 
of   Commissioners,  wherein  this  troublesome   sect 
were  adjudged  worthy  to  be  put  to  death  for  their 
"  cursed   opinions    and   devilish   tennets,"  —  Win- 
throp  signed,  leaving  testimony  beside  his  name, 
that  it  was  "  as  a  querry,  not  as  an  act."     Coming 
back  to  George  Fox's  journal,  which  I  had  bor- 
rowed for  vacation  reading,  I  could  not  but  smile 
at  the  difference  a  hundred  or  two  years  will  make  ; 
I  can  admire  both  Puritan  and  Quaker  for  their 
sincerity,  and  only  wish  they  could   have   under- 
stood each  other  better.     There  is  no  defense  for 
the  persecution  of  the  "  Fathers,"  except  the  im- 


98  LUCY    LARCOM. 

perfection  of  human  nature,  and  there  is  only  this 
for  the  misguided  ways  into  which  the  Qualiers 
were  led,  by  mistaking  their  own  fancies  for  the 
"  inner  light."  Better  death  on  both  sides  (for 
what  each  held  to  be  truth)  than  indifference  to 
truth.  And,  stepping  among  the  bones  of  the  Pil- 
grims, on  Burying  Hill,  and  looking  away  over  the 
waves  which  brought  them  and  freedom  to  New 
England,  and  so  to  the  Union,  I  could  not  but 
contrast  the  struggle  of  that  day  with  the  j)resent 
war  for  liberty  against  oppression.  It  is,  in  real- 
ity, the  "  Old  Colony  "  against  the  "  Old  Domin- 
ion," or  rather,  the  latter  against  the  former,  aris- 
tocracy against  the  republic.  God  will  prosper  us 
now  as  then  ;  but  perhaps  we  are  to  be  brought  as 
low  before  Him  as  they  were,  before  our  cause  can 
be  victorious. 

August  3.  Fishing  on  the  "  Indian  Pond  "  in 
Pembroke  half  the  day,  catching  sunfish  and 
shiners,  red  perch  and  white ;  my  first  exjjloits  of 
the  kind.  It  is  a  pleasant  day  to  remember,  for 
the  green  trees  and  the  blue  waters,  for  lilies  wide 
awake  on  the  bosom  of  the  waters  in  the  mornins: 
sunshine,  for  fresh  breezes,  and  for  pleasant  com- 
pany. 

August  11.  At  Amesbury,  —  with  two  of  the 
dearest  friends  my  life  is  blessed  with,  —  dear 
quiet-loving  Lizzie,  and  her  poet  brother.  I  love 
to  sit  with  them  in  the  still  Quaker  worship,  and 
they  love  the  free  air  and  all  the  beautiful  things 
as  much  as  they  do  all   the  good   and   spiritual. 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE   WAR.  99 

The  harebells  nodding  in  shade  and  shine  on  the 
steep  banks  o£  the  Merrimae,  the  sparkle  of  the 
waters,  the  blue  of  the  sky,  the  balm  of  the  air, 
and  the  atmosphere  of  grave  sweet  friendliness 
which  I  breathed  for  one  calm  "  First-day "  are 
never  to  be  forgotten. 

Au2Xist  20.  One  of  the  stillest  moonlight  even- 
ings^  —  not  a  sound  heard  but  the  bleat  of  a  lamb, 
and  the  murmur  of  the  river;  all  the  rest  a  cool, 
broad,  friendly  mountainous  silence.  Peace  comes 
down  with  the  soft  clouds  and  mists  that  veil  the 
hills;  the  Pemigewasset  sings  all  night  in  the 
moonshine,  and  1  lie  and  dream  of  the  beauty  of 
those  hill-outlines  around  AVinnipiseogee,  that  I 
looked  upon  with  so  satisfied  a  greeting  from  the 
car  window  on  my  way  hither.  The  mountains  do 
not  know  their  own  beauty  anywhere  but  by  a  lake- 
side. So  it  is:  beauty  sets  us  longing  for  other 
beauty ;  the  clouds  moving  above  their  summits 
suggest  possibilities  that  earthly  summits,  at  their 
grandest,  can  never  attain.  And  no  dream  can 
suggest  the  possibilities  of  the  beautiful  that  "  shall 
be  revealed." 

August  24.  "  The  eye  is  not  satisfied  with  see- 
ing, and  the  ear  with  hearing,"  and  one  can  never 
tire  of  the  vision  of  mountain  landscapes,  and  the 
quiet  song  of  summer  rivers.  Every  day  since  I 
have  been  here  in  this  beautiful  village  of  Camp- 
ton,  I  have  driven  through  some  new  region ; 
sometimes  into  the  very  heart  of  the  hills,  where 
nothing  is  to  be  seen  but  swelling  slopes  on  every 


100  LUCY    LARCOM. 

side,  hills  wliicli  have  not  quite  attained  mountain- 
hood,  but  which  would  be  mountains  anywhere  but 
in  the  "Granite  State;"  and  sometimes  out  into 
the  interval  openings  of  the  river ;  with  new  views 
of  "  Alps  on  Alps  "  on  the  northern  horizon,  the 
gate  of  the  Franconia  Notch  opening  dimly  afar 
with  its  mountain  haystacks  piled  beside  it.  It  is 
rest  to  soul  and  body  to  be  among  these  mountains ; 
one  thing  only  is  lacking ;  the  friends  I  had  hoped 
to  see  here  are  not  with  me.  But  too  much  joy 
is  not  to  be  looked  for ;  let  me  hope  that  they 
are  among  scenes  more  beautiful,  and  with  dearer 
friends  than  I.  Yet  how  delightful  it  would  have 
been,  to  be  with  the  best  friends,  among  the  most 
beautiful  scenes. 

August  25.  I  am  enjoying  the  society  of  my 
old  friend  and  former  associate  teacher.  She  is 
more  gifted  than  I,  in  most  ways,  and  it  is  pleas- 
ant to  talk  to  some  one  who,  you  take  it  for  granted, 
has  a  clearer  understanding,  and  deeper  insight, 
and  more  adequate  expression  than  yourself. 

August  28.  Yesterday  a  rare  treat ;  a  ride  to 
Waterville  (to  the  "  end  of  the  wood "  as  they 
speak  of  it  here)  in  a  three-seated  open  wagon. 
I  wish  they  would  have  only  open  ones  for  moun- 
tain travel. 

September  5.  Why  do  I  not  love  to  be  near  the 
sea  better  than  among  the  mountains  ?  Here  is 
my  home,  if  birthplace  makes  home.  But  no,  it 
is  not  my  natural  preference  ;  I  believe  I  was  born 
longing  after  the  mountains.     And  rivers  and  lakes 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE   WAR.  101 

are  better  to  me  than  the  ocean.     I  remember  how 
beautiful  the  Merrimac  looked  to  me  in  childhood, 
the  first  true  river  I  ever  knew  ;  it  opened  upon  my 
sight    and  wound  its  way  through  my  heart  like 
a  dream  realized ;  its  harebells,  its  rocks,  and  its 
lapids,  are  far  more  fixed  in  my  memory  than  any- 
thing about  the  sea.     Yet  the  vastness  and  depth 
and  the  changes  of  mist  and  sunshine  are  gloriously 
beautiful ;  I  know  and  feel  their  beauty.     Still,  I 
admire  it  most  in  glimpses  ;  a  bit  of  blue  between 
the  hills,  only  a  little  more  substantial  than  the  sky, 
and  a  white  sail  flitting  across  it ;  or  when  it  is  high- 
tide  calm,  —  one  broad,  boundless  stillness,  — then 
there  is  rest  in  the  sea,  but  it  never  rests  me  like 
the  strong  silent  hills ;  they  bear  me  up  on  their 
summits  into  heaven's  own  blue  eternity  of  peace. 
But  is  it   right  to  wrap  one's  own    being  in  this 
mantle  of  peace,  while  the  country  is  ravaged  by 
war  ?  —  its  garments  rolled  in  blood,  brother  fight- 
ing against   brother  to  the  death?      The    tide  of 
rebellion  surges  higher  and  higher,  and  there  is  no 
sadder  proof   that  we    are  not   the    liberty-loving 
people  that  we  used  to  call  ourselves,  than  to  learn 
that  there  are  traitors  in  the  secret  councils  of  the 
nation,  in  forts  defended  by  our  own  bravest  men  ; 
among  women,  too  :  "  Sisters  !  oh,  Sisters  !     Shame 
d'  ladies  !  "     A  disloyal  woman  at  the  North,  with 
everything  woman  ought  to  hold  dear  at  stake  in 
the  possible  fall  of   this  government,  —  it    is    too 
shameful !     I  hope  every  one  such  will  be  held  in 
"  durance  vile  "  until  the  war  is  over. 


102  LUCY    LARCOM. 

But  will  it  end  until  the  question  is  brought  to 
its  true  issue,  —  liberty  or  slavery  ?  I  doubt  it : 
and  I  would  rather  the  war  should  last  fifty  years, 
than  ever  again  make  the  least  compromise  with 
slavery,  that  arch-enemy  o£  all  true  prosperity,  that 
eating  sin  o£  our  nation.  Rather  divide  at  once, 
rather  split  into  a  thousand  pieces,  than  sink  back 
into  this  sin ! 

The  latest  news  is  of  the  capture  of  the  Hat- 
teras  Forts,  a  great  gain  for  us,  and  a  blight  to 
privateering  at  the  South;  —  with  a  rumor  of  "Jeff 
Davis's  "  death,  which  nobody  believes  because  it  is 
so  much  wished.  Yet  to  his  friends  he  is  a  man, 
and  no  rebel.  War  is  a  bitter  curse,  —  it  forbids 
sympathy,  and  makes  us  look  upon  our  enemies  as 
scarcely  human ;  and  we  cannot  help  it,  when  our 
foes  are  the  foes  of  right. 

Norton,  September  8.  Am  I  glad  for  trials,  for 
disappointments,  for  opportunities  for  self-sacrifice, 
for  everything  God  sends  ?  Ah  !  indeed  I  do  not 
know  !  How  many  times,  when  we  say,  "  Try  me, 
and  know  my  heart,"  the  answer  is,  '  Ye  know 
not  what  ye  ask  !  "  And  I  know  not  why,  in  some 
states  of  mind  and  body,  what  seems  a  very  little 
trouble  (or  would,  if  told  another),  should  be  so 
oppressive. 

But  "  little,"  and  "  great,"  in  the  world's  vocab- 
ulary, are  very  different  terms  from  what  they 
are  in  individual  experience ;  and  submission,  and 
grateful  acquiescing  obedience  to  divine  will,  are 
to  be  learned  by  each  in  his  own  capacity.     Two 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    WAR.  103 

weeks  ago,  I  was  saying  over  to  myself,  every  day, 
as  if  it  were  a  new  thought,  Keble's  lines,  — 

"  New  treasures  still,  of  countless  price, 
God  will  provide  for  sacrifice." 

And  as  those  words  kept  recurring,  as  if  whispered 
by  a  spirit,  I  thought  I  should  be  glad  to  have  my 
best  treasures  to  give  for  sacrifice,  to  make  others 
happy  with  what  was  most  precious  to  me.     And 
as  my  way  seemed  uncertain,  and  for  a  day  or  two 
I  knew  not  whether  to  move  or  to  sit  still,  I  said, 
"  Lead  me  !     Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord ; 
let  it  be  unto  me  according  to  Thy  will,  —  only  let 
me  do  nothing  selfishly."     And  the  answer  came 
in  the  withdrawal  of  a  blessing  from  me ;  no  doubt 
with  purposes  of  greater  blessing  to  some  one,  some- 
where and  somehow  ;    and  I  am  only  half  recon- 
ciled as  yet.     Shall  I  ever  believe  that  God  knows 
best,  and  does  what  is  best  for  me,  and  for  us  all  ? 
It  is  easy  enough  in  theory,  but  these  great  and 
little    trials   tell    us  the  truth  about  ourselves,  — 
show   us  our   insincerity.     And  now  I   close  this 
record,  which  has  been  my  nearest  companion  for 
so  many  months.     Esther  is  gone.     Is  there  any 
friend  who  cares  enough  for  me  just  as  I  am,  to 
keep  it  in  memory  of  me  ?     Or  had  I  better  bury 
it  from  my  own  eyes  and  all  others'  ?     It  may  be 
good  for  me  to  read  the  record  of  myself  as  I  have 
been,  —  cheerful  or  morbid,  —  and  of  what  I  have 
read,  thought,  and  done,  wisely  or  unwisely.     The 
"  Country  Parson  "  thinks  a  diary  a  good  thing ; 
and  I  do  too,  in  many  ways,  but  I  would  rather 


104  LUCY    LAECOM. 

write  for  a  friend's  kindly  eyes  than  for  my  own : 
even  about  myself.  Therefore  letters  are  to  me  a 
more  genial  utterance  than  a  journal,  and  I  would 
write  any  journal  as  if  for  some  one  who  could  un- 
derstand me  fully,  love  me,  and  have  patience  with 
me  through  all.  I  do  not  know  if  now  there  is  any 
such  friend  for  me ;  yet  dear  friends  I  have,  and 
more  and  more  precious  to  me,  every  year.  If 
these  were  my  last  words,  I  would  set  them  down 
as  a  testimony  to  the  preciousness  of  human  friend- 
ships ;  dearer  and  richer  than  anything  else  on 
earth.  By  them  is  the  revelation  of  the  divine  in 
the  human ;  by  them  heaven  is  opened,  truth  is 
made  clear,  and  life  is  worth  the  living.  So  have 
I  been  blessed,  drawn  heavenward  by  saintly  mes- 
sengers in  the  garb  of  mortality.  So  shall  it  be 
forever,  for  true  love  is  —  eternal,  it  is  life  itself. 

September  12.  Is  it  always  selfish  to  yield  to 
depression?  Can  one  help  it,  if  the  perspective  of 
a  coming  year  of  lonely  labor  seems  very  long  ?  No. 
I  shall  not  be  alone  ;  I  shall  feel  the  sympathy  of 
all  the  good  and  true,  though  apart  from  them  ;  and 
though  I  cannot  come  very  near  to  any  under  this 
roof,  yet  to  all  I  can  come  nearer  than  I  think  I 
can.  And  by  and  by  these  strange  restless  yearn- 
ings will  be  stilled  ;  I  shall  quiet  my  soul  in  the 
peace  of  God.  He  has  said,  "  I  will  never  leave 
thee  nor  forsake  thee !  "  Oh !  what  is  any  wo- 
man's life  worth  without  the  friendship  of  the  One 
ever  near,  the  only  divine? 

Yes,  I  will  make  my  work  my  friend.    My  trials, 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE   WAR.  105 

my  vexations,  my  cares,  shall  speak  good  words  to 
me,  and  I  will  not  blind  my  eyes  to  the  beauty 
close  at  hand,  because  o£  the  lost  glory  of  my 
dreams.  I  wish  I  could  be  more  to  all  these  young 
glad  beings,  — it  is  not  in  me  to  touch  the  chords 
of  many  souls  at  once,  but  I  will  enlarge  my  sym- 
l^athies. 

October  5,  1861.  This  first  week  of  October, 
this  month  of  months,  shall  not  pass  without  some 
record  of  its  beauty.  Norton  woods  and  Norton 
sunsets  are  the  two  redeeming  features  of  the  place  ; 
as  its  levelness  is  its  bane.  What  is  it  in  us  that 
refuses  to  love  levels  ?  Is  it  that  there  is  no  search- 
ing and  toiling  for  anything,  up  cool  heights  and 
down  in  sheltered  hollows  ? 

These  splendidly  tinted  maples  before  my  win- 
dow would  be  a  hundred-fold  more  splendid  if  lifted 
up  among  the  hemlocks  and  pines  of  the  mountain- 
sides. Oh  !  how  magnificent  those  New  Hampshire 
hills  must  be  now,  in  the  sunset  of  the  year! 

The  place  is  a  level,  and  boarding-school  life  is 
a  most  wearisome  level  to  me,  yet  flowers  spring 
up,  and  fruits  grow  in  both.  We  are  to  welcome 
"  all  that  makes  and  keeps  us  low  ;  "  yet  it  seems  to 
me  as  if  it  would  be  good  for  me  to  ascend  oftener 
to  the  heights  of  being  ;  I  fear  losing  the  power  and 
the  wish  to  climb. 

Let  us  say  we  are  struggling  to  put  down  slavery, 
and  we  shall  be  strong. 

October  8.  Yesterday  two  letters  came  to  me, 
each  from  a  friend  I  have  never  seen,  yet  each  with 


106  LUCY    LARCOM. 

a  flower-like  glow  and  perfume  that  made  my  heart 
glad.  And  at  evening  a  graceful  little  basket  of 
fruit  was  left  in  my  room,  and  this  morning  a 
bunch  of  fringed  gentians,  blue  with  the  thought- 
fulness  of  the  sky  that  hangs  over  the  far  solitary 
meadows,  the  last  answer  from  earth  to  heaven 
from  the  frosty  fields. 

October  11.  Rain  :  and  just  one  of  those  dreary 
drizzling  rains  which  turn  one  in  from  the  outer 
world  upon  one's  own  consciousness,  —  a  most  un- 
healthy pasture  land  for  thought,  in  certain  states 
of  mind  and  body.  Just  how  far  we  should  live  in 
self-consciousness,  and  how  far  live  an  outside  life, 
or  rather,  live  in  the  life  of  others,  is  a  puzzle. 
Without  something  of  an  inner  experience,  it  is  not 
easy  to  enter  into  other  lives,  to  their  advantage  ; 
some  self-knowledge  is  necessary,  to  keep  us  from 
intruding  upon  others  ;  but  it  is  never  good  to  make 
self  the  centre  of  thought. 

October  13.  George  Fox's  journal  is  a  leaf  from 
a  strange  chapter  of  the  world's  history :  from  the 
history  of  religion.  If  a  plain  man  should  come 
among  us  now,  asking  leave  of  none  to  speak,  but 
"  testifying  "  in  religious  assemblies  to  the  reality 
of  the  inward  life  of  light  and  peace  in  Christ,  his 
blunt  and  simple  ways  might  be  unpleasing  to 
many,  but  every  scoffer  would  look  on,  more  with 
wonder  than  with  anger.  Many,  I  am  sure,  would 
welcome  such  a  voice  of  sincerity  and  "  livingness," 
sounding  through  the  outward  services  of  religion. 
The  days  of  religious  persecution  can  scarcely  re 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    WAB.  107 

turn  again ;  nor,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  the  days  o£  those 
strange  phenomena  which  so  irritated  our  ancestors  ; 
men  walking  as  "  signs  "  to  the  people,  declaring 
their  dreams  to  be  visions  from  God,  and  uttering 
wild,  unmeaning  prophecies  for  insisiration.  How 
hard  it  is  to  learn  what  "  true  religion  and  un- 
defiled"  is  I  Life  is  a  better  word  for  this  univer- 
sal bond  than  religion.  And  we  shall  see,  some- 
time, that  it  is  only  by  the  redemption  of  all  our 
powers,  all  that  is  in  us  and  in  the  outward  world, 
that  we  are  truly  "  saved."  We  must  receive  the 
true  light  through  and  through,  we  must  keep  our 
common  sense,  our  talents,  our  genius,  just  the 
same  ;  —  only  that  light  must  glow  through  all,  to 
make  all  alive.  And  when  home,  and  friendships, 
and  amusements,  and  all  useful  and  beautiful 
thoughts  and  things  are  really  made  transparent 
with  that  divine  light,  when  nothing  that  God  has 
given  us  is  rejected  as  "common  or  unclean,"  the 
''new  heaven  and  the  new  earth"  will  have  been 
created,  and  we  shall  live  in  our  Creator  and  Re- 
deemer. 

The  great  difference  between  the  early  Quakers 
and  the  Puritans  seems  to  me  to  be  that  the  for- 
mer had  larger  ideas  of  truth,  deeper  and  broader 
revelations,  yet  mixed  with  greater  eccentricities, 
as  might  be  expected.  The  Puritans  were  most 
anxious  for  a  place  where  they  could  worship  undis- 
turbed, as  their  consciences  dictated  ;  the  Quakers 
were  most  desirous  that  the  Word  of  Life  should 
be    spoken    everywhere,  —  the  Light   be    revealed 


108  .  LUCY  LABCOM. 

to  all.  Each  made  serious  mistakes,  —  what  else 
could  we  expect,  from  the  best  that  is  human? 
And  the  errors  of  both  were,  in  great  part,  the 
errors  of  the  age,  —  intolerance  and  fanaticism. 

October  12.  How  refreshing  the  clear  cold  air 
is,  after  the  summer-like  fogs  and  rains  we  have 
had!  I  love  the  cold;  the  northern  air  is  strength- 
ening ;  it  has  the  breath  of  the  hills  in  it,  the 
glow  of  Auroral  lights,  and  the  purity  of  the  eter- 
nal snows.  There  is  little  of  the  south  in  my 
nature ;  the  north  is  my  home ;  Italy  and  the  trop- 
ics will  do  for  dream  excursions ;  I  should  long 
for  the  sweeping  winds  of  the  hillsides,  if  I  were 
there. 

October  15.  The  beauty  of  this  morning  was 
wonderful ;  something  in  the  air  made  me  feel  like 
singing.  I  thought  my  weariness  was  all  gone  ;  but 
leaning  over  books  brought  it  back.  After  school 
four  of  us  rode  off  in  the  wagon  through  the  woods ; 
and  delighted  ourselves  with  the  sunset,  the  katy- 
dids, and  the  moonlight. 

October  22.  I  heard  Charles  Sumner  on  the 
Rebellion  :  my  first  sight  and  hearing  of  the  great 
anti-slavery  statesman.  He  was  greeted  with  tre- 
mendous applause,  and  eveiy  expression  of  opposi- 
tion to  slavery  was  met  with  new  cheers.  He  does 
not  seem  to  me  like  a  man  made  to  awaken  enthusi- 
asm ;  a  great  part  of  his  address  was  statistical,  and 
something  we  all  knew  before,  —  the  long  prepara- 
tion of  this  uprising  of  the  rebels ;  and  his  manner 
was  not  that  of  a  man  surcharged  with  his  subject, 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE   WAR.  109 

but  of  one  who  had  thoroughly  and  elegantly  pre- 
pared himself  to  address  the  people.  At  this  time 
we  are  all  expecting  orators  to  speak  as  we  feel,  — 
intensely ;  perhaps  it  is  as  w^ell  that  all  do  not 
meet  our  expectations.  One  idea  which  he  pre- 
sented seemed  to  me  to  be  worth  all  the  rest,  and 
worth  all  the  frothy  spoutings  for  "  Union  "  that 
we  hear  every  day ;  it  was  that  our  battalions  must 
be  strengthened  by  ideas,  by  the  idea  of  freedom. 
That  is  it.  Our  men  do  not  know  what  they  are 
fighting  for  ;  freedom  is  greater  than  the  Union, 
and  a  Union,  old  or  new,  with  slavery,  no  true 
patriot  will  now  ask  for.  May  we  be  saved  from 
that,  whatever  calamities  we  may  endure ! 

The  ride  to  and  from  Boston  has  a  new  picture 
since  summer :  the  camp  at  Readville,  just  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Milton  hills.  It  is  a  strik- 
ing picture,  the  long  array  of  white  tents,  the  sol- 
diers marching  and  countermarching,  and  the  hills, 
tinted  with  sunset  and  autumn  at  once,  looking 
down  upon  the  camping  ground.  Little  enough 
can  one  realize  what  war  is,  who  sees  it  only  in  its 
picturesque  aspect,  who  knows  of  it  only  by  the 
newspapers,  by  knitting  socks  for  soldiers,  and 
sewing  bed-quilts  for  the  hospitals.  I  should  give 
myself  in  some  more  adequate  way,  if  we  were  defi- 
nitely struggling  for  freedom ;  for  there  is  more  for 
women  to  do  than  to  be  lookers-on. 

October  27.  Looking  out  on  the  clouds  at  sun- 
set, the  thought  of  God  as  constantly  evolving 
beauty  from  His  own  being  into  all  created  forms, 


110  LUCY  LAECOM. 

struck  me  forcibly,  as  tlie  right  idea  of  our  lives ; 
that,  like  Him,  we  should  be  full  of  all  truth  and 
love,  and  so  grow  into  beauty  ourselves,  and  impart 
loveliness  to  all  we  breathe  upon,  or  touch.  Inspira- 
tion from  Him  is  all  we  have  to  impart  in  blessing 
to  others. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  these  moods  and  states 
that  fetter  some  of  us  so?  I  have  seen  life  just  as 
I  see  it  now,  and  been  glad  in  it,  while  for  many 
months  all  things  have  brought  me  a  nightmare- 
feelingf  that  I  could  not  shake  off.  I  know  it  is  the 
same  world,  the  same  life,  the  same  God ;  I  do  not 
doubt  Him,  nor  the  great  and  good  ends  that  He 
is  working  out  for  all ;  yet  nothing  wears  its  old 
delight. 

October  30.  "  And  with  a  child's  delight  in 
simple  things."  That  I  have  not  lost  all  this,  I 
felt  to-day,  in  receiving  a  note  from  an  unknown 
person,  —  from  one  who  had  read  some  poems  of 
mine  in  childhood,  and  now,  a  woman,  bears  some- 
thing not  unworthy  the  name  of  poet ;  to  hear  some 
new  voice  speaking  to  me  in  this  way,  as  a  friend, 
is  pleasant  to  me.  I  have  written  as  I  have  felt, 
in  my  verses ;  they  have  been  true  words  from  my 
deepest  life,  often ;  and  I  am  glad  whenever  they 
call  forth  a  sincere  answer,  as  now ;  —  one  word 
of  real  appreciation  repays  me  for  pages  of  mere 
fault-finding.  Yet  a  kind  fault-finder  is  the  best 
of  friends. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  "gossip  ?  "  Does  n't  it 
originate  with  sympathy,  an  interest  in  one's  neigh* 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    WAR.  Ill 

bor,  degenerating  into  idle  curiosity  and  love  of 
tattling?  Which  is  worse,  this  habit,  or  keeping- 
one's  self  so  absorbed  intellectually  as  to  forget  the 
sufferings  and  cares  of  others,  to  lose  sympathy 
through  having  too  much  to  think  about  ? 

October  31.  I  must  hurry  my  mind,  when  I 
have  to  press  ancient  history  into  a  three-months' 
course,  and  keep  in  advance  of  my  class  in  study, 
with  rhetoric  and  mental  philosophy  requiring  a 
due  share  of  attention  besides,  and  the  whole  school 
to  be  criticised  in  composition  and  furnished  with 
themes. 

November  5.  Governor  Andrew's  proclamation 
was  a  very  touching  one.  Thanksgiving  will  be  a 
sad  day  this  year,  yet  a  more  sacred  day  than  ever. 
I  read  his  allusion  to  the  Potomac,  as  now  a  sacred 
river  to  us,  since  the  blood  of  our  soldiers  had 
mingled  with  its  waters ;  and  we  felt  that  one 
throb  of  patriotism  unites  us  all,  however  we  must 
suffer. 

November  7.  Fremont  is  removed!  It  seems 
too  bad,  for  none  could  awaken  enthusiasm  as  he 
did,  everywhere.  And  yet  military  law  is  all  that 
holds  us  up  now,  and  we  have  to  trust  blindly  that 
the  rulers  are  right.  It  may  prove  to  be  so,  but 
to  withdraw  him  when  within  a  few  miles  of  the 
enemy  seems  too  hard.  We  shall  respect  him  all 
the  more,  to  see  him  bearing  it  nobly  for  his  coun- 
try's sake. 

November  14.  The  best  news  for  us  since  the 
war  began  has  come  within  a  day  or  two ;  and  it  is 


112  LJJCY    LAECOM. 

confirmed.  Beaufort,  S.  C,  is  taken  by  a  federal 
fleet,  and  the  secessionists  are  in  real  consternation. 
All  agree  that  this  is  a  decisive  blow,  and  if  we 
can  maintain  our  position,  the  war  will  end  speed- 
ily. But  after  that,  there  will  be  the  same  ques- 
tion to  settle  —  "  Are  we  one  country  or  not  ?  " 
We  shall  not  be  any  more  agreed  than  we  were 
before,  until  slavery  is  abolished.  The  idea  that 
the  negroes  are  attached  to  the  "  institution "  is 
well  shown  up  now,  when  two  hundred  slaves,  the 
property  of  one  man  in  the  very  heart  of  slavedom, 
hasten  at  once  to  board  our  war  steamers  for  pro- 
tection ;  and  when  their  masters  vainly  try  to  whip 
them  before  them  in  their  retreat.  If  now  our 
government  undertakes  to  cultivate  cotton  by  free 
labor  of  colored  men,  it  will  be  a  grand  step  towards 
the  general  liberation.  And  if  thus  the  South  can 
be  made  to  honor  labor,  we  may  by  and  by  be 
reunited  in  spirit ;  for  that  is  the  element  of  separa- 
tion. We  are  carried  onward  in  a  way  we  little 
know,  and  it  is  impossible  not  to  rejoice  when  we 
feel  ourselves  borne  by  a  mighty  and  loving  Power 
towards  a  gloriovis  goal. 

November  18.  Much  of  our  Christianity  is  not 
of  a  sufficiently  enlarged  type  to  satisfy  an  educated 
Hindoo ;  not  that  Unitarianism  is  necessary,  for 
that  system  has  but  a  surface-liberalism  which  can 
become  very  hard,  and  finally  very  narrow,  as  its 
history  among  us  has  often  proved.  It  is  not  a 
system  at  all  that  we  want :  it  is  Christ,  the  "  wis- 
dom of  God  and  the  jDower  of  God,"  Christ,  the 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE   WAR.  113 

loving,  creating,  and  redeeming  friend  of  the  world, 
Christ,  whose  large,  free  being  enfolds  all  that 
is  beautiful  in  nature  and  in  social  life ;  and  all 
that  is  strong  and  deep  and  noble  in  the  sanctuary 
of  every  living  soul.  When  Christians  have  truly 
learned  Christ,  they  can  be  true  teachers. 

November  24.  Thanksgiving  is  over ;  I  have 
been  to  Beverly  and  returned.  I  am  glad  they 
wanted  me  so  much,  for  I  should  not  have  gone 
without ;  and  in  this  place  there  is  little  in  harmony 
with  our  best  home  festival.  Our  governor's  pro- 
clamation was  of  the  true  Puritan  stamp ;  and  the 
day  was  one  to  be  kept  religiously,  in  view  of  our 
present  national  troubles,  and  of  the  strong  Power 
that  is  bearing  us  through  and  over  them.  We 
are  sure  that  God  is  on  our  side ;  and  one  of  the 
thinsrs  to  be  most  thankful  for  is  that  the  desire 
for  the  liberation  of  the  slave  is  becoming  univer- 
sal. Our  armies,  that  began  to  fight  for  Union 
alone,  now  see  that  Union  is  nothing  without  free- 
dom, and  when  this  Northern  heart  is  fully  inspired 
with  that  sentiment  the  Northern  hand  will  strike 
a  decisive  blow  ;  such  a  blow  as  only  the  might  of 
right  can  direct. 

November  25.  The  first  snow  !  Light  and  thick 
as  swan's-down,  it  wraps  the  shivering  bosom  of 
mother  earth.  Last  night  I  went  to  sleep  with  an 
uncurtained  window  before  me,  and  the  still,  bright 
stars  looking  in ;  I  awoke  to  find  the  air  dim  and 
heavy  with  snow,  and  all  the  treetops  bending  in 
graceful  gratitude ;  and  to  think  aloud  the  lines,  — 


114  LUCY    LARCOM. 

"  Oh  !  if  our  souls  were  but  half  as  white 
As  the  beautiful  snow  that  fell  last  night !  " 

I  do  not  like  this  vague  kind  o£  unrest,  and  tliis 
dissatisfaction  with  myself  which  returns  so  often. 
I  am  willing"  to  be  dissatisfied,  but  I  want  to  know 
exactly  with  what,  that  I  may  mend.  I  believe  the 
trouble  partly  is  that  I  do  not,  cannot,  love  very 
much  the  jieople  that  I  see  oftenest.  Their 
thoughts  and  ways  are  so  different  from  mine  I 
cannot  comfortably  walk  with  them.  It  seems  to 
me  as  if  we  were  like  travelers  on  the  same  jour- 
ney, but  in  paths  wide  apart ;  and  we  can  only 
make  one  another  hear  by  effort  and  shouting. 
Whether  this  is  wrong,  or  simply  one  of  the  things 
that  cannot  be  helped,  I  cannot  clearly  see  ;  but  I 
am  afraid  that  I  am  too  willing  to  excuse  myself 
for  so  doino;. 

November  26.  The  last  day  of  school ;  my  classes 
all  examined,  and  to-morrow  we  scatter,  to  gather 
ourselves  together  again  in  two  weeks.  I  am  not 
sure  whether  I  like  or  dislike  these  frequent 
changes  ;  on  the  whole  I  think  I  like  them ;  for 
they  break  up  the  monotony,  and  then  one  does  get 
so  totally  glued  to  the  manner  of  school  life  :  there 
is  no  better  name  for  the  cohesive  power  that  makes 
us  one  household  for  the  time.  I  do  not  believe  it 
possible  (for  me,  at  least,  and  I  doubt  whether  it 
is  for  any  woman)  to  have  quite  a  home  feeling, 
among  the  many  living  together,  in  a  place  like 
this.  There  is  not  expansive  power  enough  in  me 
to  take  in  all. 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    WAR.  115 

Beverly,  December.  The  two  weeks  of  vacation 
are  nearly  over,  and  I  have  done  nothing  but  sew. 
I  had  planned  to  read,  and  paint,  and  walk,  and 
rest ;  but  things  are  as  they  are,  and  one  cannot 
go  in  tatters.  I  like  to  be  somewhat  troubled  and 
absorbed  in  the  necessities  of  life,  once  in  a  ivhile; 
it  is  rather  pleasant  than  otherwise  to  feel  that 
something  urgently  requires  my  attention  ;  and  then 
this  is  the  way  to  realize  how  three  fourths  of  the 
inhabitants  of  this  world  live  to  eat,  drink,  and 
wear  clothes. 

December  13.  Vacation  is  over ;  and  here  I  am 
at  Norton  again,  not  so  fully  awake  and  in  earnest 
about  school  work  as  I  wish  I  was. 

My  whole  life  has  lost  the  feeling  of  reality ;  I 
cannot  tell  why.  Alike  in  the  city,  by  the  sea- 
shore, and  here  on  the  levels  of  this  now  leafless 
flat-land,  I  feel  as  if  I  were  "  mo\dng  about  in 
worlds  unrealized."  I  know  well  enough  the  theory 
of  life ;  what  principles  must  sustain  me ;  what 
great  objects  there  are  to  live  for ;  and  still  there 
remains  the  same  emptiness,  the  same  wonder  in 
everything  I  do.  I  feel  as  I  imagine  the  world 
might  have  felt,  when  going  through  some  of  its 
slow  transitions  from  chaos  into  habitable  earth,  — 
waiting  for  sunshine,  and  bursting  buds,  and  run- 
ning rivers.  I  suppose  I  am  not  ready  for  full  life 
yet. 

December  16.  To-day  there  are  rumors  of  a  pos- 
sible war  with  England,  on  account  of  the  affair  of 
Mason  and  Slidell,  now  prisoners  in  Boston  harbor. 


116  LUCY    LAECOM. 

It  will  be  an  outi-age  on  humanity,  a  proof  that 
England's  pompous  declamations  against  slavery 
are  all  hypocritical,  if  this  should  be  done ;  for  all 
good  authorities  have  declared  that  a  war  on  this 
account  would  never  be,  unless  a  pretext  for  war 
was  wanted.  Perhaps  Providence  intends  that  this 
shall  be  brought  out  definitely  as  a  struggle  for 
principles ;  I  think  the  nation  and  the  army  need 
some  such  lesson,  and  they  will  not  learn  it  unless 
it  is  made  very  plain. 

December  22.  I  have  found  what  are  to  be  my 
two  books  of  Bible  stud}^,  —  my  two  Sabbath  books 
for  the  term.  They  are  Neander's  "  History  of  the 
Church,"  and  Conybeare  and  Howson's  "Life  of 
St.  Paul."  I  have  commenced  them  both,  and  find 
that  satisfaction  in  them  that  is  only  met  with  by 
coming  in  contact  with  a  character,  —  gifted,  schol- 
arly and  Christian. 

How  I  should  like  to  live  a  free  life  with  nature 
one  year  through !  out  in  the  bracing  winds,  the 
keen  frosty  air,  and  over  the  crackling  snowcrust, 
wherever  I  would ;  and  then  in  smnmer,  seek  the 
mountains  or  the  sea,  as  I  chose ;  no  study,  no 
thoughts,  but  what  came  as  a  thing  of  course ;  no 
system,  except  nature's  wild  ways,  which  have  al- 
ways their  own  harmony,  evident  enough  when  one 
enters  into  them,  though  understood  by  no  mere 
observer. 

December  28.  A  pretty  table  found  its  way  into 
my  room  Christmas  morning,  a  gift  contributed 
from  two  classes :  I  was  half  sorry  and  half  glad 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE   WAR.  117 

to  receive  it ;  I  don't  think  I  appi'eciate  this  kind 
of  a  present  —  it  represents  so  many  persons,  some 
vaguely  and  some  clearly  fixed  in  memory  —  so 
much  as  a  simpler  token  from  the  heart  of  one 
friend.  And  yet  I  feel  the  kindness  which  prompted 
the  gift,  and  am  grateful  for  it,  I  am  sure. 

How  ashamed  one  is  obliged  to  be  just  now 
of  the  "  mother  country"!  Ste2>mother  Country 
England  ought  to  be  called,  for  her  treatment  of  us 
in  our  trouble.  It  is  hard  to  believe  that  all  she  has 
said  against  slavery  was  insincere,  and  that  she 
would  really  like  to  see  the  slave-power  established 
and  flourishing  on  the  ruins  of  our  free  Republic ; 
but  her  actions  say  so. 

Yet  we  are  not  guiltless  ;  not  wholly  purged  from 
the  curse  yet.  The  army  is  not  entirely  anti-sla- 
very in  principles ;  and  we  cannot  look  for  success, 
nor  wish  it,  but  for  the  sake  of  freedom. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

INTELLECTUAL   EXPERIENCES. 

January  19,  1862.  How  liard  it  is  to  know 
anything'  of  history,  to  learn  enough  to  feel  at  all 
competent  to  teach!  I  said  I  would  look  through 
Gibbon,  but  I  had  hardly  reached  the  times  of 
Julian,  before  my  class  must  be  hurrying  beyond 
Charlemagne,  and  I  must  turn  to  French  histories 
to  help  them  along.  Then,  between  de  Bonnechose 
and  Sir  James  Stephen,  with  the  various  writers  on 
the  Middle  Ages,  which  must  be  consulted  for  the 
history  of  the  feudal  system,  free  cities,  and  the 
Papacy,  comes  in  the  remembrance  of  my  Bible 
class  in  the  early  history  of  the  church,  and  I  must 
give  some  hours  to  Neander !  Meanwhile,  another 
class  is  reading  Shakespeare,  and  I  want  them  to  be 
somewhat  critical,  and  must  therefore  read,  myself; 
while  yet  another  class  in  Metaphysics  are  begin- 
ning the  history  of  philosophy,  and  I  want  them  to 
know  something  about  Plato,  and  the  Alexandrian 
schools,  and  knowing  very  little  myself  I  must  find 
out  something  first.  So  I  bring  to  my  room  the 
volumes  containing  the  "  Timaeus  "  and  the  "  Re- 
public;" but  in  the  midst  of  it,  I  remember  that 
there  are  some  compositions  to  be  corrected,  that  I 
may  be  ready  for  the  new  ones  Monday  morning. 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  119 

This  is  pretty  much  where  Saturday  night  finds 
me,  and  so  the  weeks  go  on,  this  winter.  I  am  glad 
to  be  busy,  but  I  dislike  to  be  superficial.  Now, 
if  I  could  teach  only,  history,  I  should  feel  as 
though  I  might  hoj)e  to  do  something.  Girls  will 
be  ill-educated,  until  their  teachers  are  allowed  the 
time  and  thought  which  teachers  of  men  are  ex- 
pected to  take. 

January  22.  I  am  trying  to  get  an  idea  which  is 
rolling  in  grand  chaos  through  my  mind  into  shape 
for  a  composition  theme  for  my  first  class  this 
afternoon.  It  is  the  power  of  the  soul  in  moulding- 
form,  —  from  the  great  Soul  of  the  universe,  down 
to  lower  natures,  —  down  to  animal  and  vegetable 
life.  Plato's  doctrine  of  ideas  is  the  only  starting- 
point  I  can  think  of;  some  thoughts  of  Sweden- 
borg's  will  help ;  then  Lavater  and  the  Physiologists 
and  Psychologists.  But  I  want  them  to  use  it 
practically ;  to  take  particular  persons,  features, 
shape,  gait,  manner,  voice,  life ;  and  then  observe 
closely  how  beauty  develops  itself  in  flowers, 
leaves,  pebbles,  into  infinite  variety,  yet  according 
to  invariable  laws.  It  is  a  hard  thing  to  bring  such 
subjects  into  shape  which  young  girls  can  grasp ; 
yet  they  are  the  best  things  for  opening  the  mind 
upon  a  broad  horizon. 

For  a  review  of  the  week  I  must  think  of  Plato  ; 
the  "  Republic,"  and  "  Timaeus,"  and  "  Critias,"  I 
have  succeeded  in  looking  through ;  I  have  heard 
my  "  Mental"  class  read  some  of  the  rest.  In  the 
"  Republic,"  I  remember  it  is  decided  that  youths 


120  LUCY  LARCOM. 

should  be  taught  in  music,  —  no  enfeebling*  melo- 
dies, but  those  which  strengthen  and  build  up  the 
soul  in  all  that  is  vast  and  true.  Plato's  idea  of 
music  comjjrehends  more  than  we  read  in  the  word ; 
and  I  see  how  it  is  that  an  education  should  be 
musical,  —  the  spiritual  fabric  rising  like  the  walls 
of  Troy  to  the  Orphean  strains  of  noble  thoughts 
and  impulses. 

I  remember,  too,  that  he  would  forbid  some  of  the 
stories  of  the  Gods  to  be  told  to  childi-en ;  those  which 
should  needlessly  alarm  them,  or  weaken  their  rever- 
ence. In  that  corrupt  and  yet  beautiful  system,  it 
was  necessary  indeed ;  the  same  idea  might  be  not 
injuriously  carried  out  in  a  system  of  Christian  edu- 
cation. In  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  there  is  much 
that  puzzles  the  maturest  minds,  sincere  and  ear- 
nest in  their  search  for  truth ;  yet  these  narratives 
are  the  first  knowledge  that  children  often  have  of 
the  Bible.  I  would  have  them  learn  only  the  New 
Testament,  until  they  have  learned  something  of 
the  real  nature  of  the  world  they  are  ushered  into. 
When  they  study  other  history,  they  will  be  better 
able  to  understand  this ;  and  the  history  of  the 
Jews  is,  it  seems  to  me,  a  wonderful  part  of  the 
world's  record,  so  connected  with  that  of  other  na- 
tions as  to  make  them  plainer,  revealing  the  hand- 
writing of  an  Almighty  Providence  everywhere. 

I  would  not  have  the  child  begin  life  with  the 
terror  which  hung  over  my  childhood  :  told  that 
I  was  a  sinner  before  I  knew  what  sin  meant, 
and  fearful  pictures  of  eternal  punishment  which 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  121 

awaited  all  sinners  at  death  haunting  my  dreams, 
so  that  I  was  afraid  to  sleep,  and  more  afraid  to 
die.  I  know  they  say  (a  good  man  has  just  said 
it  to  me)  that  there  is  less  vigor  of  mind  and  char- 
acter because  these  things  are  less  taught  as  a  part 
of  religion  than  formerly ;  yet  I  am  sure  that  blind 
fear  cannot  invigorate,  —  it  must  degrade.  I  be- 
lieve that  I  went  far  down  from  my  earliest  ideals 
of  life  after  hearing  these  things  ;  and  it  was  a  long 
straying  amid  shadowy  half-truths,  and  glooms  of 
doubt,  and  stagnations  of  indifference,  before  I  came 
back  to  the  first  thought  of  my  childhood.  No  : 
let  a  child's  life  be  beautiful  as  God  meant  it  to  be, 
by  keeping  it  near  Him,  by  showing  to  its  simpli- 
city the  things  which  are  lovely,  and  true,  and  pure, 
and  of  good  report.  The  knowledge  of  evil  comes 
rapidly  enough,  in  the  petty  experiences  of  life  ; 
but  a  child  will  soon  love  evil  and  grow  old  in  it, 
if  driven  away  from  the  divine  light  of  love  ;  if  not 
allowed  to  think  of  God  chiefly  as  a  friend.  And 
just  here  is  where  Christ  speaks  to  the  hearts  of 
little  children  ;  they  know  Him  as  soon  as  He  is 
permitted  to  speak,  and  are  known  of  Him. 

January  29.  I  believe  that  letter- writing  is 
more  of  a  reality  to  me  now  than  conversation ; 
short  though  my  notes  are,  I  can  speak  thus  to 
those  who  need  me,  and  whom  I  need. 

Repose  of  character,  and  the  power  of  forgetting, 
are  great  compensations  for  a  tried,  hurried,  and 
worried  life.  And  there  is,  in  all  but  the  most 
unusual  lives,  something  like  this,  which  enables 


122  LUCY  LABCOM. 

people  to  laugh  at  care,  and  triumph  over  grief ; 
though  it  is  never  perfectly  done,  except  by  a 
thorough  trust  in  the  goodness  of  God,  —  a  faith 
in  the  watching  love. 

February  5.  I  did  have  the  sleigh-ride  with  my 
young  friends,  as  I  expected,  and  a  merry  one 
it  was.  We  just  whirled  through  Attleboro,  and 
back  again.  All  I  remember  of  the  ride  is  the 
icicles  that  hung  on  the  orchard  trees  and,  just  at 
sunset,  the  tints  that  fell  on  a  slope  of  unstained 
snow.  They  were  the  softest,  coolest  shades  of 
blue  and  violet,  with  here  and  there  a  suggestion 
of  rose  or  crimson,  a  perfectly  magical  combination 
of  shadow  colors,  only  half  escaped  from  their 
white  light-prison  of  the  snow.  It  was  a  hint  of 
the  beauty  of  an  Alpine  or  a  Polar  landscape,  such 
as  travelers  tell  about.  The  young  moon  followed 
one  queenly  star  down  the  west,  as  we  returned, 
with  a  song  of  "  Gloiy  Hallelujah,"  and  "  Home- 
ward Bound." 

February  6.  The  clear  blue  of  this  morning's 
sky  has  melted  into  a  mass  of  snowy  clouds,  and 
now  earth  and  sky  are  of  the  same  hue,  —  white  — 
white,  —  the  purest  crystalline  snow  is  on  the 
ground,  and  more  is  coming.  The  violet  hues  in 
the  north  at  sunrise  and  sunset  are  very  beautiful. 

I  am  glad  I  took  my  walk  in  the  woods  this 
morning  while  the  sky  was  bright ;  there  are  fine 
tints  there  always  on  the  trees,  various  browns  of 
withered  oaks  and  beech-leaves,  still  persistent, 
and  leaning  against  the  stout  pine  trunks,  that 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  123 

hold  up  their  constant  green  to  the  sky.  Two  trees 
I  noticed  for  the  first  time,  a  pine  and  a  maple, 
which  have  grown  up  with  their  trunks  in  close 
union,  almost  one  from  infancy.  One  keeps  his 
dark  green  mantle  on,  the  other  has  lost  her  light 
summer  robe,  but  is  covered  all  over  with  the  soft- 
est clinging  lichens,  that  contrast  their  pale  green 
tints  with  the  white-gray  bai'k  in  a  charming  way. 
When  snow  falls  on  these  lichen-draped  boughs, 
the  softness  of  the  white  above  and  the  white  be- 
low is  wonderful.  I  think  Neck-woods  is  a  grand 
studio ;  when  weary  of  my  own  white  walls  I  can 
always  find  refreshment  there. 

February  7.  The  news  of  Sarah  Paine 's  death 
overwhelms  me,  —  so  young,  so  sensitive,  so  genial 
and  accomplished ;  she  seemed  made  to  enter  deeply 
into  the  reality  and  beauty  of  an  earthly  life.  No 
pupil  of  mine  has  ever  yet  come  near  me  in  so 
many  ways  to  sympathize  and  gladden  as  she. 
Only  a  few  weeks  since,  we  walked  together  in 
the  woods,  so  full  of  life  and  hope  she  was ;  and 
now,  in  a  moment,  —  but  why  this  sorrow,  since 
she  is  but  suddenly  called  home  to  deeper  love  and 
purer  life  ? 

How  every  failure  of  tenderness  and  perfect 
a2)preciation  on  my  part  comes  back  to  pain  me 
now  !  Why  have  I  not  written  to  her?  Why  have 
I  waited  for  her  to  write  to  me  ?  Oh,  what  is 
worse  than  to  fail  of  loving  truly  ? 

February  13.  I  had  decided  to  go  to  her  fu- 
neral, and  went  to  Boston  for  the  purpose,  but  a 


124  LUCY  LARCOM. 

sleepless  night  left  me  too  wretched  to  undertake 
the  journey,  and  I  spent  the  days  in  Boston  feeling 
too  miserable  to  come  back  here,  or  to  stay  there. 
How  much  of  my  life  is  gone  with  this  friend  !  — 
gone  ?  no  ;  translated,  lifted  up  with  her  to  her 
new  estate  !  Yet  much  is  gone  from  the  world  : 
the  beauty  of  the  walks  about  here,  of  the  studies 
we  have  loved  and  pursued  together,  —  I  hardly 
knew  how  much  this  young  life  had  woven  itself 
into  mine.  And  it  was  the  deeper,  spiritual  sym- 
pathies fusing  all  love  into  one  deep  harmony  of 
life,  —  it  was  the  love  of  the  all-loving  One  that 
brought  us  closest  together  ;  and  that  makes  "  was  " 
the  wrong  word  to  use,  in  speaking  of  her ;  she  is 
my  friend  stiU,  and  the  light  of  her  new  life  will 
enter  into  mine. 

One  after  another,  those  who  have  come  nearest 
to  me  to  love,  to  sympathize,  to  guide,  pass  on  into 
purer  air,  and  make  me  feel  that  my  life  is  not 
here  ;  my  home  is  with  the  beloved. 

February  17.  There  is  news  to-day  of  great 
victories  in  progress  for  us.  Fort  Donelson  is  sur- 
rounded ;  there  has  been  a  deadly  fight,  and  our 
flag  waves  upon  the  outer  fortifications.  It  is  said 
that  the  rebels  must  yield,  as  all  approaches  are 
cut  off,  but  it  is  the  struggle  of  desperation  with 
them,  as  this  is  the  key  to  the  whole  Southwest. 
There  are  victories  in  Missouri  and  in  North  Caro- 
lina also ;  more  prisoners  taken  than  our  generals 
know  what  to  do  with ;  but  all  this  is  purchased 
at  such  a  price  of  blood ! 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  125 

In  tlie  days  I  stayed  in  Boston  last  week  I  vis- 
ited two  galleries  of  paintings,  ancient  and  mod- 
ern. The  old  paintings  are  chiefly  curious,  not 
beautiful,  often  very  coarse  in  conception.  I  should 
like  to  see  something  really  great  by  the  "  old  mas- 
ters ; "  but  I  suppose  such  things  are  only  to  be 
seen  in  Europe. 

I  believe  I  love  landscape  more  than  figures, 
unless  these  latter  are  touched  by  a  master's  hand. 
To  be  commonplace  in  dealing  with  nature  does 
not  seem  quite  so  bad  as  in  dealing  with  human 
beings. 

I  heard  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  speak  too.  "  Civ- 
ilization "  was  his  subject ;  nobly  treated,  except 
that  the  part  of  Handet  was  left  out  of  Hamlet. 
What  is  civilization  without  Christianity  ?  There 
was  a  kind  of  religion  in  what  he  said ;  an  acknow- 
ledging of  all  those  elements  which  are  the  result 
of  Christianity ;  indeed,  Emerson's  life  and  charac- 
ter are  such  as  Christianity  would  shape.  He 
only  refuses  to  call  his  inspiration  by  its  right 
name.  The  source  of  all  great  and  good  thought 
is  in  Christ ;  so  I  could  listen  to  the  Sage  of  Con- 
cord, and  recognize  the  voice  of  the  Master  he 
will  not  own  in  words. 

"  Hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star ! "  was  his  way  of 
telling  his  hearers  to  live  nobly,  according  to  the 
high  principles  which  are  at  the  heart  of  all  life. 
The  easiest  way  to  live,  he  said,  was  to  follow  the 
order  of  the  Universe.  So  it  is.  "  The  stars  in 
their  courses  fought  ag-ainst  Sisera : "  but  it  was 


126  LUCY  LARCOM. 

because  Sisera  would  go  the  opposite  way  to  the 
stars.  This  is  the  secret  of  our  struggle,  and  of 
our  victory  that  will  be.  We  have  entangled  our- 
selves with  wrong,  have  gone  contrary  to  the  Di- 
vine Order ;  now,  if  we  come  out  plainly  and 
strongly  on  the  right  side,  we  triumph ;  for  Right 
cannot  fail.  This  war  will  make  a  nation  of  great 
and  true  souls  ;  if  we  fight  for  freedom.  And  what 
else  is  worth  the  conflict,  the  loss  of  life  ?  '  The 
Union,  a  Country — a  home?  Yes,  if  these  may 
be  preserved  in  honor  and  humanity,  not  otherwise. 
Better  be  parceled  out  among  the  nations  than 
keep  the  stigma  of  inhumanity  upon  our  great  do- 
main. Freedom  for  slavery  is  no  freedom  to  a 
noble  soul. 

February  21.  I  have  often  wondered  what  is 
the  meaning  of  these  dim  forebodings,  that,  with- 
out any  apparent  cause,  will  sometimes  make  us  so 
uneasy.  The  air  is  bright,  cold,  and  clear ;  every- 
thing without  says,  "  Rejoice  and  be  strong !  "  every- 
thing within  is  darkened  by  vague,  unaccountable 
flutterings  of  anticipated  ill.  No  sorrow  can  come 
to  me  which  will  not  involve  some  greater  grief  of 
other  hearts,  so  I  dread  the  more  what  I  have  to 
dread.  I  think  I  cannot  say  of  anything  that  is 
dear  to  me,  that  it  is  all  my  own  ;  can  any  one  ? 
Mothers,  lovers,  husbands,  wives  —  these  have  ex- 
clusive joys,  and  exclusive  losses  to  risk.  I  can 
lose  much,  for  I  love  much  ;  yet  there  is  nothing 
on  earth  that  I  can  feel  myself  holding  firmly  as 
mine.     So  I  seek  to  live  in  others'  joy  and  sorrow. 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  127 

A  life  large  and  deep  in  its  love,  is  the  privilege 
of  those  placed  as  I  am ;  it  must  be  either  that,  or 
quite  unloving,  shut  up  in  its  own  small  case  of 
selfishness.  "  When  Thou  shalt  enlarge  my  heart," 
this  large  feeling  of  rest  will  be  found. 

I  have  plans  floating  in  my  mind  for  the  educa- 
tion of  my  nieces.  I  could  not  afford  to  have  them 
here  without  a  salary  much  increased. 

I  think  I  could  conduct  their  education  myself, 
in  some  small  school,  better  than  here,  more  accord- 
ing to  my  own  ideas  ;  whether  that  is  really  better 
or  not,  only  the  results  would  show.  But  some  of 
their  studies  I  know  I  could  make  more  valuable 
to  them  than  those  to  whom  they  might  be  trusted. 
Then  I  have  an  idea  of  moral,  religious,  and  mental 
development  going  on  at  the  same  time,  which  I 
do  not  often  see  carried  out ;  perhaps  I  should  not 
do  it,  but  I  should  like  to  try.  Having  no  children 
of  my  own  I  feel  a  responsibility  for  those  who  are 
nearest  me.  How  much  of  an  effort  one  should 
make  for  such  a  purpose  as  this,  I  do  not  know. 
So  far,  I  have  been  evidently  led  into  the  way  I 
ought  to  take  ;  may  it  be  so  still  I 

It  was  a  new  sight  to  me,  to  see  a  long  line  of 
cavalry,  extending  far  out  of  sight  down  the  street, 
a  forest  of  bayonets  at  first,  and  then  an  army  of 
horses.  It  was  our  National  Guard  ;  and  it  looked 
like  a  strong  defense,  that  bristling  line  of  bayo- 
nets ;  but  it  made  me  very  sad  to  think  that  men 
must  leave  home,  and  peaceful  occupations,  and 
moral  influences,  to  punish  rebellious  brethren,  and 


128  LUCY  LABCOM. 

keep  them  in  awe.  Wai%  as  a  business,  is  one  that 
I  cannot  learn  to  believe  in,  although  I  must  realize 
it  as  a  necessity. 

February  26.  For  any  of  us  to  comprehend 
thoroughly  Kant,  Fichte,  Schelling,  Hegel  —  to  say 
nothing  of  the  plainer  sensualistic  systems  —  in 
the  little  time  we  can  give  to  the  study,  is  quite 
out  of  the  question.  And  yet  it  does  these  young 
girls  good  to  know  that  there  is  a  region  of  thought 
above  and  beyond  their  daily  track,  and  if  they 
should  ever  have  time,  they  may  enjoy  exploring 
it.  Besides,  the  habit  of  looking  upon  life  in  a 
large  way  comes  through  philosophy  Christianized. 
The  rio-ht  use  of  our  faculties  in  a  reverent  search 
for  truth  is  certainly  worth  much  thought  and 
painstaking  from  man  or  woman. 

To  live  a  child-like,  religious  life  in  all  things  is 
what  I  would  do ;  simply  receiving  light  and  life 
from  the  love  revealed  within,  and  so,  as  a  child, 
claiming  the  inheritance  of  the  world  without, 
which  was  created  by  the  same  Love  for  loving 
souls ;  but  the  earthly  cleaves  to  me ;  I  lose  sim- 
plicity of  soul  in  the  world's  windings. 

Yet  I  own  but  one  Life,  one  Lord  and  Redeemer ; 
in  Him  only  shall  I  find  for  myseK  the  simplicity  of 
the  child  and  the  wisdom  of  the  Seraph.  In  Him 
all  things  are  mine.  Beautiful  ideals  may  deceive 
one.  Because  we  see  and  can  talk  about  noble 
things,  does  it  follow  that  we  can  live  them?  I 
fear  not  always. 

March  5.     My  birthday,  —  and  I  am  as  much 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  129 

gratified  as  any  child  to  find  fragrant  and  beau- 
tiful flowers  in  ray  room,  placed  there  by  loving 
hands.  And,  what  was  very  beautiful  to  me,  the 
trim-berry  vine  which  I  have  kept  in  a  dish  of  moss 
all  winter,  this  morning  put  forth  one  hesitating, 
snow  white  blossom,  another  followed  before  noon, 
and  to-night  there  are  four,  as  delicate  in  perfume 
as  in  color ;  it  is  so  sweet,  that  the  woods  give  me 
this  pretty  memento  of  their  love  to-day ;  it  is  a 
promise  of  spring,  too ;  of  the  multitudes  of  just 
such  white  blossoms  that  are  waiting  patiently 
under  the  snow-banks  to  give  themselves  away  in 
beauty  and  fragrance  by  and  by.  —  To-night,  for 
the  first  time,  I  met  some  of  our  scholars  to  talk 
with  them  of  deep  and  sacred  truths.  I  hardly 
know  how  I  did  it ;  it  seemed  hard  at  first,  and  yet 
it  was  easy,  for  the  words  seemed  to  be  spoken 
through  me.  I  will  try  not  to  shrink  from  it  again. 
And  I  will  endeavor  to  keep  it  before  myself  and 
others,  that  Christianity  is  simply  a  receiving  and 
living  out  the  life  of  Christ ;  not  a  thing  of  theories 
and  emotions,  but  a  life. 

I  will  say  it  to  these  pages,  because  I  feel  it  so 
bitterly  sometimes,  and  cannot  speak  it  out  here 
without  offense,  that  there  is  too  much  of  the  "  tear- 
ing open  of  the  rosebud  "  in  talking  with  those  who 
are  seeking  the  truth.  Some  are  thought  to  be  in- 
different or  untrue,  because  they  will  not  speak  of 
their  deepest  feelings  to  anybody  who  asks  them. 
It  is  a  shameful  mistake ;  it  must  accompany  a  low 
standard  of  delicacy,  to  say  the  least.     Let  me  not 


130  LUCY  LARCOM. 

call  that  pride  or  obstinacy,  which  is  the  heart's  nat- 
ural reserve !  The  deeper  depths  of  the  soul  are 
sacred  to  one  Eye  alone,  and  so  much  as  a  shrink- 
ing soul  may  reveal  to  a  friend,  it  will.  I  would 
discourage  too  free  a  conversation  about  one's  own 
feeling's ;  it  is  dissipating,  except  where  a  burdened 
soul  mzist  pour  out  itself  to  another  for  sympathy. 
Why  cannot  we  leave  our  friends  to  find  God  in 
the  silence  of  the  soul,  since  there  is  His  abode  ? 

March  11.  We  have  had  victories  by  sea  and 
land.  To-night  the  news  comes  that  Manassas  is  oc- 
cupied by  our  troops.  The  "  Merrimac  "  has  made 
a  dash  from  Norfolk,  and  destroyed  two  of  our  war 
vessels;  but  the  little  iron-clad  "Monitor"  appeai-ed 
and  drove  her  back.  The  coast  of  Florida  is  for- 
saken by  the  rebels,  and  our  troops  are  taking  pos- 
session. Everything  is  working  for  us  now ;  and 
it  seems  as  if  the  rebellion  must  soon  be  strangled. 
Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  as  if  these  events  were 
happening  in  a  foreign  country,  they  touch  me  and 
mine  so  little  in  a  way  that  we  immediately  feel. 

This  has  been  a  day  of  "  clearing  up,"  and  do- 
mestic reforms  are  never  poetical.  Taking  down 
pictures  and  books,  and  finding  one's  self  reminded 
of  neglected  favorites  by  heaps  of  dust,  lost  memen- 
tos coming  up  from  forgotten  corners,  —  after  all, 
there  is  some  sentiment  in  it ;  and,  in  the  midst 
of  it,  three  letters,  two  of  them  touching  my  heart- 
strings right  powerfully. 

I  have  learned  to  live  with  a  trusting  heart  and 
a  willing  hand  from  day  to  day,  and  I  have  not  a 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  131 

wish  for  more,  except  that  I  might  be  able  to  help  . 
others  as  I  am  not  now  able.  If  it  is  rest  that  is 
before  me,  I  dare  not  take  it  until  I  am  more 
weary  than  now;  —  a  home  would  withdraw  me 
from  the  opportunity  of  educating  my  nieces,  per- 
haps. No !  there  can  be  nothing  but  single-handed 
work  for  others  before  me  ;  anything  else  would  be 
but  a  temptation,  and  perhaps  one  that  I  should  not 
be  able  to  bear.  I  would  be  kept  safe  from  every- 
thing but  a  plain  opening  to  the  life  of  self-sacrifice 
in  the  footsteps  of  our  one  true  Guide !  I  will 
trust  Him  for  all,  and  be  at  rest  from  the  dread  of 
too  much  sunshine,  as  well  as  from  fear  of  storms. 
He  knows  what  I  need. 

There  is  heart-heaviness  for  souls  astray,  such  as 
I  have  seldom  felt,  weighing  me  down  even  now. 
There  is  one  poor  girl,  half  ruined,  and  not  knowing- 
how  to  escape  destruction,  for  whom  there  seems 
no  outlet  but  into  the  very  jaws  of  death.  None 
but  a  Divine  Power  can  help  her ;  yet  He  may  do 
it  by  making  human  helpers  appear  for  her.  How 
fearful  a  thing  it  is  to  be  placed  where  there  are 
brands  to  be  plucked  from  burning. 

And  this  is  not  the  only  one  I  know,  for  whom 
all  human  efforts  seem  unavailing.  Near  and  far 
away  are  those  to  whom  my  heart  reaches  out  with 
nameless  fears,  and  hope  unquenched  and  unquench- 
able, till  the  lamp  of  life  shall  go  out.  God  save 
us  all  from  shipwreck  of  soul !  for  these  drifting 
lives  but  show  us  the  possibilities  of  our  own. 

With  poor  little  Prince  Arthur,  I  can  sometimes 


132  LUCY  LARCOM. 

say  heartily,  "  Would  I  were  out  of  prison,  and 
kept  sheep." 

One  long  summer  all  out  of  doors,  what  new  life 
it  would  give  me !  Yet  I  would  not  have  this 
winter's  memory  left  out  of  my  life  for  much. 
Some  new  openings  into  true  life,  here  and  be- 
yond, come  with  every  season. 

March  16.  I  have  been  trying  to  hold  some  plain 
converse  with  myself,  and  I  am  more  and  more 
convinced  that  sincerity  is  not  the  thorough  spirit 
of  my  life,  as  I  would  have  it.  It  is  so  eas}"^  to 
take  one's  fine  theories,  and  the  frequent  expres- 
sion of  them,  in  the  place  of  the  realities  they 
stand  for.  I  really  fear  that  I  have  been  trying  to 
impose  these  fine  theories  upon  Him  who  knows 
ray  heart,  in  the  place  of  true  love.  I  believe  in 
self-forgetfulness,  in  constant  thought  for  others, 
in  humility,  in  following  the  light  of  the  unseen 
Presence  within  the  soul,  but  I  do  not  live  out 
these  ideas,  except  in  languid  and  faltering  efforts. 

Now  in  this  way,  is  not  ray  life  going  to  be  a 
false  one,  false  to  man  and  God  ?  Discouraging 
indeed  it  is,  to  think  much  of  self  ;  and  it  is  well 
that  we  need  not  do  it.  There  is  life,  there  is  truth 
to  be  had  for  the  asking.  Only  the  Christ-life 
within  can  make  me  true  before  heaven  and  earth 
and  my  own  heart.  Yet  even  here  I  feel  myself  so 
apt  to  dwell  upon  the  beautiful  theory  of  a  present 
Redeemer  as  to  foroet  that  in  the  trifles  of  a  dailv 
intercourse  with  human  beings,  this  life  is  to  be 
manifested,  if  at  all.  Thoroughly  unselfish  — 
shall  I  ever  be  that? 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  133 

I  was  glad  to  talk  with  my  Bible  scholars  about 
the  resurrection  to-day.  It  has  come  to  be  the 
most  real  of  all  revealed  truths  to  me. 

Our  Lord  is  risen,  and  we  have  a  Redeemer  to 
stand  by  our  souls  in  the  struggles  of  this  human 
life.  He  is  risen,  and  we  shall  arise  from  the  dead, 
and  go  home  to  Hiui,  "  and  so  be  forever  with  the 
Lord."  He  is  risen,  and  all  His  and  our  beloved 
are  risen  with  Him  ;  they  are  "■  alive  from  the 
dead  forevermore."  He  is  risen,  and  we  rise  with 
Him  from  the  death  of  sin,  into  the  new  life  of 
holiness  which  he  has  brought  into  the  world.  He 
said,  "  Because  I  live,  ye  shall  live  also." 

Beverly,  April  5.  Two,  almost  three,  weeks  of 
the  vacation  are  gone.  It  is  Saturday  night,  and 
after  a  week  of  fine  spring  weather,  there  is  another 
driving  snowstorm,  which  makes  us  all  anxious,  as 
our  good  brother  Isaac  has  just  sailed  from  Bos- 
ton ;  but  perhaps  he  is  at  anchor  in  the  Roads ;  they 
would  not  start  with  the  signs  of  a  northeast  storm 
at  hand.  Bound  for  Sumatra,  to  be  gone  a  year, 
perhaps  two.  How  we  shall  all  miss  him  I  He  is 
one  of  the  really  kind-hearted,  genial  men,  who 
know  how  to  make  home  and  friends  happy,  just 
by  being  what  they  are  ;  no  effort,  no  show  about 
it,  genuine  goodness  of  heart  making  itself  always 
felt. 

I  have  had  a  week  of  visiting,  also.  Curious 
contrasts  one  finds,  in  passing  from  family  to  fam- 
ily ;  each  has  its  own  peculiar  essence  or  flavor, 
its  home  element,  or  lack  of  the  same  ;  sometimes 


134  LUCY  LARCOM. 

its  painful  peculiarity,  wliicli  it  seems  almost  dis- 
honorable for  a  guest  to  notice,  or  ever  even"  to 
think  of,  afterwards.  One  thing  is  plain,  —  the 
worldly-prosijerous  learn  with  most  difficulty  the 
secret  of  home-rest ;  whoever  loves  show  has  not 
the  true  home-love  in  him. 

Those  are  the  happiest  family  circles  which  are 
bound  together  by  intangible,  spiritual  ties,  in  the 
midst  of  care,  poverty,  and  hard  work,  it  may 
be.  Whether  rich  or  poor,  a  home  is  not  a  home 
unless  the  roots  of  love  are  ever  striking  deeper 
through  the  crust  of  the  earthly  and  the  conven- 
tional, into  the  very  realities  of  being,  —  not  con- 
sciously always  ;  seldom,  perhaps  ;  the  simj)licity  of 
loving  grows  by  living  simply  near  nature  and  God. 

And  I  have  looked  into  some  pleasant  homes 
during  this  brief  visit.  Homes  where  little  chil- 
dren are,  are  always  beautiful  to  me,  for  the  chil- 
dren's sake,  if  for  nothing  more.  Cherub-like  or 
impish,  the  little  folks  fascinate  me  always.  If  I 
were  a  mother,  I  am  afraid  I  should  never  want 
my  baby  to  grow  up  ;  and  who  knows  whether  the 
babies  that  die  do  not  keep  the  charm  of  infancy 
upon  them  forever?  So  many  little  children  I 
have  loved  have  gone  home  with  tiny  life-torches 
just  filling  some  small  domestic  world  with  light, 
a  light  that  could  not  go  out,  and  which  perhaps 
heaven  needs  to  make  it  perfect  heaven. 

But  the  best  visit  of  all  is  always  to  Amesbury, 
to  the  friendly  poet,  and  my  loving  Lizzie,  his 
sister  ;  dearer  and  dearer  she  seems  to  me,  now  so 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  135 

alone,  without  her  mother.  Since  Esther  went 
away,  my  longing  love  goes  after  this  friend,  my 
own  Elizabeth,  as  if,  when  Heaven  opened  to 
receive  one  friend,  a  golden  cord  were  flung  down 
to  us  two,  to  bring  us  nearer  each  other  and  nearer 
the  beloved  ones  up  there.  But  theirs  is  a  home 
in  each  other's  love  which  makes  earth  a  place  to 
cling  to  for  its  beauty  yet.  If  I  could  not  think  of 
them  together  there,  of  the  quiet  light  which  bathes 
everything  within  and  around  their  cottage  under 
the  shadow  of  the  hill,  of  the  care  repaid  by  gentle 
trust,  of  the  dependence  so  blessed  in  its  shelter  of 
tenderness  and  strength,  the  world  would  seem  to 
me  a  much  drearier  place ;  for  I  have  never  seen 
anything  like  this  brother's  and  sister's  love,  and 
the  home-atmosphere  it  creates,  tlie  trust  in  human 
goodness  and  the  Divine  Love  it  diffuses  into  all 
who  enter  the  charmed  circle. 

I  love  to  sit  with  my  friends  in  the  still  Quaker 
worship ;  there  is  something  very  soothing  in  the 
silence  of  the  place  to  me,  and  in  glancing  upon 
the  faces  around  me,  where  "  the  dove  of  peace  sits 
brooding."  Then  and  there,  I  have  often  felt  the 
union  of  all  hearts  in  the  truth,  where  there  is  no 
thought  of  opinion,  or  sect,  or  creed,  but  the  one 
wide  communion  of  trust  in  one  Father  and  Ee- 
deemer  which  is  His  church ;  the  gathering  of  all 
souls  in  Him. 

April  17.  I  feel  better  prepared  to  write  than 
I  ever  have,  and  I  feel  a  greater  desire  to  say  what 
I  am  able  to  say,  if  I  may.     I  do  not  know  what 


136  LUCY  LARCOM. 

niy  greatest  use  in  life  is  yet,  whether  I  can  do 
more  by  teaching  or  by  writing ;  I  wait  to  be  shown 
and  to  be  guided,  and  I  believe  I  shall  be. 

April  22.  .  .  .  The  best  preparation  for  death  is 
to  be  alive  as  fully  as  one  is  capable  of  being ;  for 
the  transition  is  not  from  life  to  death,  but  from 
life  to  life  ;  more  life  always.  And  the  time  when 
we  are  to  be  called  hence  need  not  trouble  us,  or 
the  way :  it  is  in  the  heart  of  the  Father  to  do  the 
best  thing  for  us  forever. 

May  4.  I  have  been  to  Esther's  grave,  and 
foiuid  Spring  there,  a  glimpse  of  the  immortal  sun- 
shine and  blossoming  in  which  she  lives.  I  have 
found  love  growing  for  me  in  her  home,  in  one 
young,  glad  heart ;  and  in  one  life-worn  and  sor- 
row-worn. I  have  felt  her  spirit  living  and  breath- 
ing yet  in  her  earthly  home  ;  from  her  flowers,  her 
books,  her  domestic  life,  in  all  the  atmosphere  of 
the  places  haunted  by  her  footsteps,  —  the  home 
where  she  lived  and  loved  and  suffered,  the  lovely 
resting-place  of  her  dust  by  the  river  side.  Of  such 
lives  as  hers  new  life  is  born,  and  I  have  brought 
back  with  me  a  deeper  reality  to  live  in,  heaven 
bends  nearer  over  me,  earth  is  lifted  up  to  heaven. 
I  only  needed  to  breathe  in  another,  freer  atmos- 
phere than  this ;  and  the  dear  Lord  sent  me  just 
where  it  was  best  for  me  to  go.  Scarcely  could  I 
have  found  anything  so  good  for  my  soul's  health, 
this  side  of  the  "  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood," 
where  Esther,  my  heart's  sister,  walks  with  the  An- 
gels in  the  bloom  of  immortal  health  and  loveliness. 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  137 

It  is  strange,  but  I  seem  to  know  her  more  hu- 
manly  now  than  when  she  was  here.  I  saw  her 
but  once  or  twice  ;  she  was  to  me  as  a  spirit,  a  voice 
in  the  wilderness,  to  guide  and  to  cheer.  Now  I 
feel  how  she  wore  the  same  robes  of  flesh,  wearily 
and  painfully,  yet  cheering  and  blessing  household 
and  friends  by  her  patient,  tender  love.  I  never 
thought  before  how  beautiful  it  would  be  to  visit 
the  Holy  Land  —  to  tread  in  the  Lord's  footsteps. 
I  had  thought  that  the  spirit-love  might  be  dimmed 
by  traces  of  the  earthly ;  but  it  is  not  so ;  I  have 
tracked  the  footsteps  of  this  loving  pilgrim  through 
the  Gethsemane  and  Olivet  of  her  Holy  Land  of 
home,  and  I  know  her  and  hers  more  truly ;  I  am 
hers,  and  she  is  mine  more  surely  now  forever. 

May  10.  Heaven  is  a  jilace.,  a  home,  a  rest :  but 
it  is  a  Spiritual  habitation,  Truth  and  Love  and 
Peace  are  the  pillars  that  support  it ;  and  it  is  the 
truthful,  the  loving,  and  the  holy  only  who  may 
enter  in.  How  then,  O  beloved  Guide,  may  such 
as  I  ?  Because  Thou  hast  drawn  me  by  love 
to  Love, — hast  given  an  "  earnest  "  of  that  life 
even  here,  imparting  new  sympathies,  hopes,  and 
aspirations,  infusing  Thine  own  life  into  mine,  and 
Thou  wilt  never  forsake  Thine  own  work,  Thine 
own  home !  Yet  so  imperfectly  I  hear  and  follow 
Thee,  so  slow,  so  cold,  so  hard  my  nature  yet, — 
when  the  summons  comes,  will  it  not  find  me  lag- 
ging on  the  heavenly  road,  hardly  at  home  within 
the  beautiful  gates  ?  So  many  die  with  noble  pur- 
poses half-grown    into  achievement,  so  many  live 


138  LUCY    LARCOM. 

but  half  in  the  light,  and  yet  the  Light  is  in  them, 
—  how  will  it  be  with  them,  and  with  me  ;  how 
shall  the  stains  of  the  mortal  be  put  off?  Death 
has  no  cleansing  power,  and  defilement  may  not 
enter  heaven.  There  is  a  mystery  here  which  is 
too  painfnl ;  yet  we  know  not  what  that  other  life  is, 
nor  how  hereafter,  more  than  here,  the  Shepherd 
leads  His  own. 

Always  it  is  by  paths  they  have  not  known ;  and 
what  new  and  wonderful  ministries  may  be  pre- 
pared for  us  there,  who  have  sought  Him  through 
all  our  faltering  and  waywardness  here.  He  knows  ; 
and  it  is  good  to  trust  Him  always,  and  for  all 
things. 

Sabbath,  May  11.  Esther's  letters  are  a  con- 
stant comfort  to  me ;  they  say  more  to  me  now, 
about  some  things,  than  they  did  while  she  was 
alive.  I  love  to  keep  them  near  me  —  in  sight. 
Does  she  know  how  happy  she  makes  me  every 
day  I  live,  how  rich  I  am  in  the  inheritance  of 
love  she  has  left  me  ?  Ah !  how  little  can  I  tell 
what  she  is  doing  for  me  now  !  But  the  "  idea  of 
her  life  "  seems  growing  into  all  my  thoughts.  I 
could  not  have  known  her  as  I  do  if  she  had  not 
gone  away,  to  return  in  spirit ;  and  I  can  see  her, 
too,  moulding  the  lives  of  others  she  loved  most 
dearly.  There  is  more  of  heaven  in  this  Spring's 
sunshine  than  I  have  seen  for  years. 

I  owe  my  acquaintance  with  Robertson  to  her ; 
a  gift  she  sent  me  out  of  deepest  pain,  when  she 
was  passing  through  the  fires,  and  none  but  Jesus 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  139 

knew.  I  use  his  thouglits  on  the  epistle  to  the 
Corinthians  with  my  class  these  Sunday  mornings ; 
that  is,  I  read  the  Apostle's  words,  then  Robert- 
son's, then  the  Apostle's  again,  and  afterward  talk 
with  the  scholars  from  the  things  which  I  have, 
in  both  ways,  received.  And  by  the  kindling  eyes 
and  earnest  looks  of  all,  especially  of  some  whose 
natures  have  seemed  indolent  and  unspiritual,  I 
feel  assured  that  the  living  thought  is  sometimes 
found  and  received  mutually.  A  soul  must  drink 
the  truth,  bathe  in  it,  glow  with  its  life,  in  order  to 
impart  it  to  another  soul ;  and  it  is  to  me  a  source 
of  gratitude  which  I  can  never  exhaust,  that  such 
as  Robertson  and  my  Esther  "  have  lived  and  died." 

May  13.  Yesterday  morning  the  news  came  of 
the  surrender  of  Norfolk,  and,  in  a  sudden  burst  of 
patriotism,  the  school  went  out  and  marched  round 
the  Liberty  pole,  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  sing- 
ing "  Hail  Columbia,"  and  cheering  most  heartily. 

The  defeat  of  the  rebels  —  happily  bloodless  — 
was  attended  with  the  usual  amount  of  vandalism, 
burning  of  buildings,  ships,  etc.  The  stolen  ship 
"  Merrimac,"  transformed  into  an  iron-fanged  rebel 
war  steamer,  was  blown  up ;  we  are  all  glad  her 
race  is  run.  And  the  vandalism  of  the  rebels  is 
but  another  proof  to  the  world  of  the  worth  of  their 
cause,  the  desperate  situation  in  which  they  find 
themselves,  and  on  which  side  of  the  contest  bar- 
barism lingers.  All  hearts  are  lighter  now.  The 
doom  of  this  demoniac  rebellion  is  sealed.  There  is 
no  longer  any  slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia, 


140  LUCY  LARCOM. 

and  doubtless  the  whole  infamous  "  system  "  shall 
be  drowned  out  in  the  blood  of  this  war.  If  not,  it 
will  seem  to  have  been  shed  in  vain. 

May  21.     C has  gone  into  the  army;  but 

first  he  has  "  joined  the  army  of  the  Lord,"  as  he 
expresses  it  in  his  letter  to  his  mother.  If  ever 
mortals  could  hear  the  angels  rejoicing  "  over  one 
that  rej)enteth,"  I  should  think  I  had  heard  them 
to-day,  while  I  read  this  news.  So  much  anxiety 
lest  here  should  be  a  shipwrecked  soul,  so  many 
have  been  pained  about  him,  and  burdened  for  him, 
—  so  little  faith  or  hope  some  of  us  had,  as  to  the 
possibility  of  his  rising  out  of  his  old  self  into  a 
better  life,  —  all  these  memories  come  back,  and 
make  it  seem  like  a  miracle  ;  and  indeed  it  is  the 
greatest  of  all  miracles. 

And  when  he  writes,  "  Aunt  Lucy  may  feel  as 
if  her  prayers  were  being  answered,"  it  seems  to 
me  as  if  I  had  nothing  but  unbelief  to  remember. 
It  is  the  mighty  hand  of  God,  if  he  is  saved !  He 
goes  into  temptation,  but  he  goes  hopeful,  and  long- 
ing to  prove  himself  a  "  good  soldier  of  the  Cross." 
And  now  he  needs  to  be  followed  with  faith  and 
prayer  more  than  ever.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  this 
were  realizing  for  the  first  time,  what  "  conversion  " 
means ;  that  it  is  a  reality,  and  not  a  term  which 
custom  has  made  mere  cant.  He  speaks  of  liim~ 
self  in  a  free,  simple  way,  as  I  never  could  have 
spoken ;  and  yet  it  is  genuine.  Oh,  if  it  might 
unloose  more  hearts  and  tongues  ! 

May  23.  ...  I  am  so  glad  to  be  7ieeded,  as  I 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPERIENCES.  141 

seem  to  be  now,  by  several  of  my  friends :  my 
thoughts,  my  care,  my  suggestions  seem  of  some 
value.  It  is  a  woman's  want,  and  I  feel  a  woman's 
gratification  in  being  allowed  to  think  a  little  for 
others.  For  a  great  school  like  this,  I  never  feel 
that  I  can  do  much ;  I  want  to  know  just  the  espe- 
cial need  of  somebody  that  I  can  help. 

So  human  nature  goes  :  absorbed  by  petty  miser- 
ies quite  as  much  as  by  grand  and  beautif id  ideas ; 
who  would  think,  sometimes,  that  such  as  we  could 
be  immortal  beings  ? 

I  have  felt  myself  growing  very  skeptical  for  a 
little  while,  of  late.  A  cold  thrill  creeps  insid- 
iously through  me  when  I  go  among  people  ;  there 
is  so  little  apparent  reality  in  human  lives,  loves, 
friendships.  "  All  seek  their  own ; "  and  when 
there  is  a  gleam  of  unselfishness,  it  is  but  a  passing 
gleam.  And,  worst  of  all,  when  I  am  with  those 
whose  lives  are  pitched  in  a  low  key,  I  find  myself 
taking  it  for  granted  that  it  is  life. 

June  7.  Two  trials  came  to  me  this  week,  trials 
to  patience  which  I  seldom  have,  yet  both  very 
trifling.  One  came  from  a  selfish  woman,  who 
would  misunderstand  me,  and  imagine  that  I  was 
troubling  her,  when  I  was  trying  to  do  just  the  op- 
posite ;  this  I  must  bear  in  silence,  for  it  is  a  case 
when  doing-  and  letting;  alone  are  accounted  alike 
grievous.  Another  was  from  the  whims  of  school- 
girls,  which  they  would  persevere  in,  though  to 
their  own  serious  discomfort.  How  to  meet  such 
things  with  simple  meekness,  and  not  with  a  desire 


142  LUCY  LARCOM. 

to  let  people  suffer  the  consequences  of  their  own 
mistakes,  is  something,  which,  old  as  I  am,  I  have 
not  yet  learned.  The  constant  frets  of  this  kind 
that  some  have  to  bear,  I  have  been  saved  from  ; 
people  are  generally  too  generous  and  thoughtful 
of  me.  How  miserable  some  families  must  be  ! 
and  what  a  wretched  life  it  must  be,  just  to  be  left 
to  the  indulgence  of  one's  own  foolish  and  selfish 
whims  I 

June  11.  This  week  I  wrote  letters  which  de- 
cide my  going  to  Connecticut,  to  Esther's  mother, 
next  year.  It  is  strange  that  it  seemed  so  hard  for 
me  to  decide  upon  so  pleasant  a  thing;  but  some- 
how it  is  as  if  this  were  altogether  a  different  thing 
from  my  usual  plans  ;  as  if  there  were  hidden  links 
in  spiritual  chains  influencing  my  decision,  and  to 
result  from  it.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  have  de- 
cided right,  but  I  believe  some  good  will  come  out 
of  it,  in  some  way.  If  I  can  make  a  desolate  home 
a  little  happier,  it  will  be  worth  going  for ;  but  that 
is  just  the  thing  I  fear  I  shall  not  do. 

June  22.  ...  I  was  most  wretchedly  tried,  to- 
day, by  a  bungler  in  dentistry,  and  then  worried 
and  vexed  by  two  hours'  hurried  and  dissatisfied 
shopping. 

...  I  know  that  I  am  loved  and  valued  here, 
and  yet  I  want  to  go  away.  I  do  not  think  of  any 
place  where  I  long  to  go,  but  only  somewhere  into 
a  different  life :  into  more  trials  I  am  sure  it  will 
be,  when  I  do  go,  but  that  does  not  frighten  me.  I 
am  growing  callous  with  the  constant  repetition  of 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPEEIENCES.  143 

the  same  blessings.  I  need  to  suffer,  to  be  shaken 
sorely  through  all  my  life,  then  perhaps  I  shall 
learn  not  to  be  so  ungrateful  or  indifferent  to  any- 
thing God  sends. 

July  9.  If  Atlas  had  undertaken  to  keep  a 
journal  of  his  state  of  mind,  while  holding  the  world 
on  his  shoulders,  he  might  have  been  successful  and 
he  might  not ;  and  it  might  or  might  not  have  been 
worth  while.  I  don't  want  to  "  keep  a  journal  " 
exactly,  but  I  want  to  try  the  effect  of  writing  every 
day,  as  much  to  keep  up  the  habit  as  anything  else. 
But  how  to  catch  the  moments  from  between  the 
busy  hours  ?  I  am  to  be  here  another  anniversary, 
—  no  help  for  it,  though  greatly  against  my  wishes  : 
the  work  that  comes  with  it  does  not  seem  to  me 
very  profitable  to  anybody  in  particular,  and  the 
hardest  of  it  comes  upon  me.  I  dislike  shows  and 
preparation  for  shows ;  but  there  is  no  escaping. 
There  is  an  interest  in  helping  the  girls  do  their 
parts  well,  only  they  and  I  both  fear  I  help  them 
too  much  sometimes. 

.  .  .  At  night  a  most  kind  letter  from  my  editor 
friend  with  a  most  liberal  enclosure  for  services 
rendered.  The  nobleness  and  genial  spirit  of  the 
man  is  more  to  me  even  than  his  liberality.  It  is 
a  comfort  to  write  for  those  who  receive  in  the 
spirit  of  one's  giving. 

And  to-day  a  letter  from  a  young  nephew,  con- 
fiding to  me  his  longings  for  a  better  life,  and  ask- 
ing for  suggestions  and  advice.  This  is  a  joy  that 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes ;  not  that  I  can  do  much 


144  LUCY  LARCOM. 

for  him,  except  by  helping  him  to  keep  those  aspira- 
tions alive  ;  by  sympathy  and  by  living  such  a  life 
as  he  seeks.  It  is  like  a  miracle,  in  these  days, 
when  a  young  man  like  him  really  is  interested  in 
such  things  !  An  upright,  moral  one  too,  with  few 
bad  habits,  and  the  promise  of  a  successful  worldly 
career. 

Beverly,  last  of  July.  The  war  moves  on,  but 
slowly.  The  "  rallying  "  meetings  to  raise  the  Pres- 
ident three  hundred  thousand  men  seem  like  an 
attempt  at  galvanizing  patriotism  into  life.  Blind- 
ness is  come  upon  the  people  in  some  way,  for  some 
reason :  it  is  not  as  in  the  old  Revolutionary  days  ; 
and  yet  this  cause  is  greater.  But  we  will  not  dare 
to  say  that  we  are  fighting  for  anything  but  the 
Government.  We  leave  God  out,  and  all  becomes 
confused. 

July  29.     Another  death;  C ,  the  stray  lamb 

so  long,  has  been  called  into  the  upper  fold.  His 
was  a  wonderful  change,  as  marked  as  St.  Paul's, 
almost,  and  his  last  letter  from  the  camp  was  one 
that  will  be  a  lifelong  comfort  to  his  friends,  so 
full  of  faith  in  God,  submission  to  His  will,  an  en- 
tire readiness  to  die,  and  yet  a  wish  to  live  that  the 
past  might  be  redeemed.  He  died  on  the  25th  of 
June,  while  his  division  of  the  army  was  passing 
from  Corinth  to  Memphis,  after  having  suffered 
much  from  fever,  and  other  complaints  incident  to 
a  weakened  constitution  in  a  new  climate,  and 
among  the  hardships  of  war.  He  had  his  wish ; 
his  long  desire  to  be  a  soldier  was  gratified ;  once 


INTELLECTUAL    EXPEBIENCES.  145 

he  was  under  fire ;  the  air  full  of  bullets  around 
him,  and  one  striking  within  two  feet  of  his  head. 
But  he  was  not  to  die  in  battle ;  disease,  that  he 
dreaded  more,  laid  him  low ;  he  longed  for  civiliza- 
tion, was  weary  of  the  great  Southern  forests  ;  but 
there  he  was  to  lay  his  weary  head  for  his  last  sleep. 
And  now  his  mother  is  all  alone  in  the  world,  and 
almost  broken-hearted.  One  after  another,  hus- 
band and  four  children  have  gone,  and  she  is  a 
widow  and  childless. 

But  to  think  of  the  thousands  of  homes  that  this 
war  has  desolated,  the  thousands  of  hearts  well- 
nigh  broken  !     Is  it  not  enough  ? 

No,  for  the  purification  of  the  nation  has  not 
yet  been  wrought  out ;  the  scourge  is  needed  yet ; 
the  gidf  yet  yawns  for  that  which  is  dearest  in  all 
the  land,  and  the  war  will  not  cease  until  it  is 
closed.  Not  to  a  proud,  self-confident  people  will 
the  victory  be  given,  but  to  the  humble,  the  trust- 
ful, the  nation  that  stays  itself  upon  God,  and  lives 
only  for  the  highest  principles,  and  the  highest  love. 

Aujrust  10.  This  week  has  been  a  more  remark- 
able  one  than  any  in  my  life,  I  believe,  in  the  way 
of  seeing  people  I  have  heard  of,  and  had  some 
little  curiosity  about.  Last  Thursday  was  spent  at 
Andover,  and  one  of  the  golden  days  it  was.  The 
day  itself  was  one  of  shine  and  shadow  just  rightly 
blended  ;  and  the  place,  the  well-known  Hill  of  the 
students,  was  in  its  glory.  After  sitting  awhile  in 
church,  where  the  learned  Professors,  Park,  Phelps, 
and  Stowe,  sat  in  state  (I  wonder  if  Professors  dread 


146  LUCY  LARCOM. 

anniversaries  and  conspicuous  positions  as  we  board- 
ing-school teachers  do  I)  we  went  up  the  hill  to 
accept  an  invitation  to  lunch  with  Mrs.  Harriet 
Beecher  Stowe.  It  was  beautiful  as  a  page  from 
one  of  her  own  story  books. 

Mrs.  Stow^e  herself  I  liked,  and  her  house  and 
garden  were  just  such  as  an  authoress  like  her 
ought  to  have.  It  all  had  what  I  imagine  to  be  an 
English  look,  the  old  stone  house,  with  its  wild 
vines  and  trees  brought  into  shape  in  picturesque 
walks,  and  its  cool  refreshment-room  looking  off 
over  the  river,  the  city,  and  the  far  hills,  to  the 
mountains ;  the  arrangement  of  the  table,  too, 
showing  so  much  of  the  poetess.  I  could  not  have 
called  upon  Mrs.  Stowe  formally ;  as  it  was,  no- 
thing could  have  been  much  pleasauter,  of  that 
kind. 

Then  before  I  left  I  called  upon  some  old  friends ; 
a  call  which  finished  the  day  very  delightfully ;  for 
there,  besides  the  cordiality  of  really  well  -  bred 
people,  I  saw  one  of  the  sweetest  specimens  of  girl- 
hood that  can  be  shown  in  New  England,  I  fancy. 
Beauty  does  not  often  fascinate  me,  in  its  common 
acceptation ;  but  where  there  is  soul  in  a  young, 
sweet  face  —  modesty  and  intelligence  that  greet 
you  like  the  fragrance  of  a  rosebud  before  it  is  well 
opened  —  it  is  so  rare  a  thing  in  these  "Young 
America  "  days  that  it  makes  me  a  little  extrava- 
gant in  admiration,  perhaps. 

Saturday  I  spent  at  Amesbury ;  it  was  not  quite 
like  other  visits,  for  two  other  visitors  were  there  ; 


INTELLECTUjiL    EXPERIENCES.  147 

yet  I  enjoyed  one  of  them  especially ;  an  educated 
mulatto  girl,  refined,  lady-like  in  every  respect,  and 
a  standing-  reply  to  those  who  talk  of  the  "  inferiority 
of  the  colored  race."  It  is  seldom  that  I  see  any 
one  who  attracts  me  so  much,  whose  acquaintance 
I  so  much  desire,  just  from  first  sight.  She  would 
like  to  teach  at  Port  Royal,  but  the  government 
will  not  permit.  Ah,  well !  my  book  ends  with  no 
prospect  of  the  war's  end.  Three  hundred  thou- 
sand recruits  have  just  been  raised,  and  as  many 
more  are  to  be  drafted. 

Many  talk  as  if  there  never  was  a  darker  time 
than  now.  We  have  no  unity  of  jiurpose ;  the 
watchword  is  "  Fight  for  the  Government !  "  but 
that  is  an  abstraction  the  many  cannot  comprehend. 
If  they  woidd  say,  "  Fight  for  Liberty  —  your  own 
liberty,  and  that  of  every  American,"  there  would 
be  an  impetus  given  to  the  contest  that,  on  our 
side,  "  drags  its  slow  length  along."  This  is  an 
extreme  opinion,  our  law-abiding  people  say,  but  I 
believe  we  shall  come  to  worse  extremes  before  the 
war  ends. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LETTERS  AND  WORK. 

1861-1868. 

The  regular  routine  of  school-life  was  varied  for 
Miss  Larcom  by  cliarming  invitations  to  Boston 
where  she  met  many  literary  friends,  and  by  her 
pleasant  siunmer  vacations,  which  she  always  spent 
among  the  mountains.  The  two  following  letters, 
one  to  Mr.  James  T.  Fields  and  one  to  Mr.  Whittier, 
are  interesting :  — 

Norton,  April  4,  1861. 

Dear  Mr.  Fields,  —  My  thoughts  ran  into  a 
kind  of  rhapsody,  all  to  themselves,  after  that  even- 
ing of  pleasant  surprises  at  your  house.  I  did  not 
know  it  was  fairy-land  at  37  Charles  Street,  nor 
did  I  dream  of  meeting  so  many  of  the  Genii,  — 
if  I  had  foredreamed  or  foreknown,  I  suppose  I 
should  have  thought  it  even  more  of  an  impossibil- 
ity for  me  to  go  than  I  did. 

I  was  n't  going  to  be  so  foolish  as  to  send  j'ou 
this  rhapsody,  but  I  have  just  got  back  to  my  own 
room  after  the  wanderings  of  vacation,  and  have 
hung  up  my  ruined  arch.  It  is  Dolabella's,  on  the 
Coelian  Hill,  and  it  brings  back  so  many  pleasant 
reminiscences  of  those  few  hours  among  the  treas- 


LETTERS  AND    WOBK.  149 

ures  of  your  home-grotto  that  I  am  just  in  the 
mood  for  inflicting  this  out-of-date  expression  of 
my  enjoyment  upon  Mrs.  Fiekls  and  you.  I  don't 
pretend  that  it  is  j)oetry,  and  if  you  are  ashamed  of 
me,  for  running  on  so,  please  remember  that  you 
shouldn't  have  shown  me  so  many  curious  and 
beautiful  things  ;  —  I  am  not  used  to  them. 

I  have  heard  that  Miss  Cushman  is  to  play  next 
week.  Is  it  true  ?  If  it  is,  and  if  you  know  before- 
hand what  evenings  she  will  appear  as  Lady  Mac- 
beth or  Meg  Merrilies,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
tell  Mr.  Robinson,  who  will  let  me  know,  and  who 
has  promised  to  accompany  me  to  the  theatre  ?  I 
have  always  wanted  to  see  her  in  some  of  her  great 
rbles^  and  now  more  than  ever,  since  I  have  seen 
her  as  a  noble  woman. 

What  a  wonderful  statue  that  "Lotus  Eater" 
is!  I  was  never  so  "carried  away  "  with  anything 
in  marble ! 

With  remembrances  to  Mrs.  Fields, 
Gratefully  yours, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

This  poem  was  enclosed  in  the  above  letter :  — 

Was  it  a  dream 
Or  waking  vision  of  the  gracious  night  ? 
Did  I  on  that  enchanted  isle  alight, 
Aye  blossoming  in  Shakespeare's  line, 
With  forms  and  melodies  divine,  — 

Where  all  things  seem 
Ancient  yet  ever  new  beneath  the  hand 
Of  Prospero  and  his  aerial  band  ? 


150  LUCY  LARCOM. 

At  every  turn  a  change 

To  something  rich  and  strange,  — 
Embodied  shapes  of  poets'  fantasies : 

Glimpses  of  ruins  old 
Slow  fading  from  the  blue  Italian  skies ; 

And  runes  of  wizards  bold ; 

Or  beautiful  or  quaint 
Memorials  of  bard,  and  sage,  and  saint, 

In  many  an  antique  tome. 

There  was  some  necromancy  in  the  place  : 
The  air  was  full  of  voices  wondrous  sweet ; 
Crowned  shadows  of  past  ages  came  to  greet 
Their  living  peers,  who  lately  lent  new  grace 

To  genius-haunted  Rome ; 
And  when  the  lady  of  the  grotto  spoke, 
'T  was  like  Miranda,  when  at  first  she  woke 
To  Love,  lighting  the  wild  sea  with  her  smile 
Star  of  her  beautiful  and  haunted  isle  ; 

And  the  magician,  who 
Such  harmony  and  beauty  round  him  drew,  — 
He  was  her  Ariel  and  Ferdinand 

Blended  in  one. 
And  heir  to  Prosper's  wonder-working  wand. 

He  charmed  the  sprites  of  power 

For  one  familiar  hour. 
And  Story-land  and  Dream-land  deftly  won 
To  his  home-nook  the  moonlit  stream  beside : 

Hushed  and  apart 

Though  in  the  city's  heart, 
There  dwell  they  long,  the  poet  and  his  bride  I 

TO  J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

Norton,  Mass.,  September  8,  1861. 

Why  is  it  that  I  always  miss  thy  visits  ?     Why 

of  all  things  should  I  have  lost  sight  of  thee  at  the 

mountains  ?  and  when  I  was  so  near  thee  too !     I 

cannot  think  why  so  pleasant  a  thing  should  be 


LETTERS  AND  WORK.  151 

withlield  from  me,  unless  because  I  enjoy  it  too 
much.  I  have  no  other  such  friends  as  thee  and 
Elizabeth,  and  when  anything  like  this  happens  it 
is  a  great  disappointment.  But  I  said  all  the  time 
that  seeing  the  hills  with  you  could  only  be  a  beau- 
tiful dream. 

I  felt  the  beauty  of  those  mountains  around  the 
Lake,  as  I  floated  among  them,  but  I  wished  for 
thee  all  the  while  ;  because  I  have  always  associated 
thee  with  my  first  glimpse  of  them,  and  somehow 
it  seems  as  if  they  belonged  to  thee  or  thee  to  them, 
or  both.  They  would  not  speak  to  me  much;  I 
needed  an  interpreter:  and  when  they  grew  so 
dim  and  spectral  in  the  noon  haze,  they  gave  me  a 
strange  almost  shuddering  feeling  of  distance  and 
loneliness. 

But  I  am  glad  thee  saw  the  Notch  Mountains,  and 
those  grand  blue  hills  up  the  river  that  I  used  to 
watch  through  all  their  changes.     I  am  glad  Miss 

B saw  thee,  for  she  was  as  much  disappointed 

as  I  when  we  gave  up  the  hope  of  your  coming.  I 
felt  almost  certain  you  would  both  come ;  I  wanted 
Lizzie  to  know  the  mountains. 

Is  it  right  to  dream  and  plan  for  another  year  ? 
How  I  should  like  to  go  to  Franconia  with  thee 
and  Elizabeth  to  see  those  great  gates  of  the  Notch 
open  gradually  wider  and  wider,  and  then  to  pass 
through  to  a  vision  of  the  vast  range  beyond !  It 
is  but  a  vague  memory  to  me ;  I  long  to  take  that 
journey  again. 

But   everything   has  wearied   me   this  smumer, 


152  LXTCY    LAHCOM. 

and  I  feel  almost  like  dropping  my  dreams  and 
never  expecting  anything  more.  It  is  doubtless 
wiser  to  take  what  a  kind  Providence  sends,  just  as 
it  comes  :  yet  who  is  always  wise  ?  Twice  I  rested 
in  the  sight  of  your  beautiful  river  and  on  that  cot- 
tage doorstep  at  Campton,  looking  off  to  the  moun- 
tains. But  the  sea  tired  me  with  its  restlessness. 
I  wanted  to  tell  it  to  be  still.  And  I  was  very 
willing  to  get  back  f f^m  it  to  the  quiet  of  my  room, 
to  the  shelter  of  these  friendly  elms,  and  to  the 
steady  cheerful  music  of  crickets  and  grasshoppers. 
I  shall  be  very  happy  to  try  to  write  a  hymn  for 
the  Horticultural  Association,  as  you  request ;  and 
will  send  you  something  as  soon  as  I  can.  .  .  . 

In  the  autumn  of  1862,  Miss  Larcom  decided 
to  give  up  teaching  at  Wheaton  Seminary.  Ill 
health  for  some  time  had  made  her  complain  of  a 
constant  sense  of  weariness  in  her  head.  Living 
in  the  crowded  school  when  she  longed  for  quiet, 
and  preparing  her  work  for  extra  classes,  she  be- 
came nervously  exhausted  ;  so  that  when  an  invita- 
tion came  from  Esther's  mother,  requesting  her  to 
spend  the  winter  in  Waterbury,  Connecticut,  she 
readily  accepted  it.  She  longed  to  be  in  the  peace- 
ful home  made  sacred  by  the  presence  of  her  be- 
loved friend,  where  she  felt  that  by  occupying 
Esther's  roOm,  sitting  at  her  writing-desk,  and 
using  her  very  bed,  she  would  enter  into  her  spirit, 
and  help  to  fill  the  vacant  place  in  a  mother's 
heart.     At  first  there  was  something  hallowed  in 


LETTERS  AND  WORK.  153 

the  home  of  one  so  pure,  —  she  "  felt  it  was  holy 
ground,"  and  was  "  half  afraid  to  live  my  common 
life  here ; "  but  the  close  association  with  sad  mem- 
ories was  depressing,  and  the  solitude,  while  it  gave 
her  rest,  did  not  refresh  her.  After  having  formed 
a  lifelong  friendshij)  with  Franklin  Carter,  a  half- 
brother  of  Esther  and  afterwards  President  of  Wil- 
liams College,  she  returned,  first  to  Norton  for  a 
little  while,  —  then  to  Beverly,  where  she  secured 
time  for  her  writing,  which  was  now  constantly  ab- 
sorbing her  attention. 

Her  poems,  written  chiefly  for  weekly  papers  — ■ 
since  they  were  either  on  homely  fireside  topics  or 
incidents  of  the  war,  or  else  were  religious  medita- 
tions—  were  widely  copied,  and  found  their  way 
into  the  scrap-books  of  thoughtful  households  all 
over  the  land.  Referring  to  the  winter  of  1863, 
she  said,  "  I  have  written  for  the  newspapers  this 
winter.  My  ideas  of  the  '  Atlantic '  are  too  high 
for  me  often  to  offer  it  anything  my  thoughts  let 
slip.  My  standard  is  so  far  beyond  my  perform- 
ances, that  I  am  very  glad  to  let  them  glide  away 
unnoticed,  and  unnamed,  on  the  path  of  the  weekly 
tide  wave  of  print."  Though  Mr.  Fields  was  equal 
to  the  task  of  polite  editorial  refusal,  he  gladdened 
her  heart  by  occasionally  accepting  a  poem.  It  was 
through  his  literary  judgment  that  "  Hilary,"  that 
tender  lyric  of  sea-sorrow,  with  its  wistfulness  and 
pathos,  first  saw  the  light ;  and  the  indignant  strains 
of  "  A  Loyal  Woman's  No  "  were  first  heard  from 
the   pages   of  the   "Atlantic."      These   successes 


154  LUCY    LARCOM. 

opened  the  way  for  poems  o£  greater  merit,  like  the 
"  Eose  Enthroned." 

Her  interest  in  the  war  was  intense.  She  fol- 
lowed eagerly  the  progress  of  the  campaigns,  and 
rejoiced  in  every  victory,  often  writing  verses  to 
celebrate  the  events,  as  in  the  case  of  the  sinking 
Merrimac :  — 

"  Gone  down  in  the  flood,  and  gone  out  in  the  flame  ! 
What  else  could  she  do,  with  her  fair  Northern  name  ?  " 

Her  satire  was  ready  for  those  able-bodied  men 
who,  when  the  drafting  was  talked  of,  were  sud- 
denly seized  with  many  varieties  of  disease,  or 
those  who  went  a-fishing  for  the  season  —  because 
mariners  were  exempt  —  or,  like  one  man,  who 
cut  off  three  fingers,  hoping  that  the  loss  of  these 
members  would  be  sufficient  to  keep  him  at  home. 
She  wanted  to  do  something  herself :  "  I  am  almost 
ashamed  of  these  high  sentiments  in  print,  because 
I  really  have  done  nothing  for  our  dear  country  as 
yet.  These  things  sound  conceited  and  arrogant 
to  me,  under  the  circumstances,  but  I  only  write 
from  an  ideal  of  patriotic  womanhood,  and  for  my 
country-women."  She  came  near  offering  herself 
as  a  teacher  for  the  "  Contrabands,"  but  some  of  her 
friends  thought  it  unwise  in  the  state  of  her  health 
at  the  time,  and  she  concluded  that  she  was  not 
fitted  for  the  work,  with  the  rather  sad  confession, 
"  I  have  an  unconquerable  distrust  of  my  own  fit- 
ness for  these  angel  ministries ;  I  fear  I  am  not 
worthy  to  suffer.  I  can  think,  write,  and  teach, 
but  can  I  live?" 


LETTERS  AND  WORK.  155 

In  August,  1863,  she  was  called  to  the  West  by 
the  serious  illness  of  her  sister  Louisa,  which  ter- 
minated fatally. 

TO    MKS.    JAMES    T.    FIELDS. 

Hammond,  Wis.,  September  11,  1863. 

.  .  .  and  with  her,  my  pleasant  dreams  of  home  dis- 
solve ;  it  was  she  who  said  she  would  make  a  home 
for  me,  wherever  I  would  choose.  The  earthly  out- 
look is  lonelier  than  before  ;  but  I  must  not  yield  to 
selfish  regrets.  She  has  gone  home,  in  a  sense  more 
real  tlian  we  often  say  of  the  dead.  Her  whole  fam- 
ily had  gone  before  her,  —  husband  and  four  chil- 
dren had  left  her  one  after  another.  Her  heart 
seemed  broken  when  her  youngest  son  died  in  the 
army,  last  year ;  she  never  recovered  her  strength 
after  that  blow.  I  cannot  mourn  when  I  think  of 
that  glad  reunion  of  a  household  in  heaven,  but  I 
cannot  help  the  great  blank  that  her  death  and  my 
brother's  have  left  in  my  life.  These  family  ties, 
I  find,  grow  stronger  as  I  grow  older. 

This  prairie  life  does  not  now  attract  me  at  all. 
A  broad,  grand  world  opens  out  on  every  side,  but 
there  is  no  choice  in  it.  You  might  as  well  take 
cue  level  road  as  another.  .  .  . 

With  the  death  of  this  sister,  in  reality,  did  dis- 
solve the  "  pleasant  dreams  of  a  home,"  for  Miss 
Larcom  never  had  a  home  of  her  own,  though  she 
longed  for  one,  and  used  to  delight  in  speaking  of 
the  possibility  of  having  one.     ''  I  will  build  my 


156  LUCY    LAECOM. 

long-planned  home  among  the  mountains,"  she  used 
to  say,  "  and  my  friends  shall  bivouac  with  me  all 
summer."  But  her  life  was  spent  principally  in 
hoarding-houses,  or  in  the  homes  of  others.  Her 
resources  never  permitted  her  to  own  the  bed  on 
which  she  slept ;  however,  she  did  own  an  old 
wooden  lounge,  which  was  her  only  bed  for  years. 
But  she  made  the  best  of  it,  in  her  usual  way ;  "  I 
like  this  old  couch.  I  like  to  be  independent  of 
things  ;  there  is  a  charm  in  Bohemian  life." 

On  her  return  to  Beverly  in  1864,  she  took  a 
few  pupils  again,  and  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in 
painting,  —  even  weeds,  for  she  "  loved  the  very 
driest  old  stick  that  had  a  bit  of  lichen  or  moss  on 
it."  She  exhausted  her  friend's  libraries  in  read- 
ing, and  received  from  Mrs.  Fields  a  large  valise 
filled  with  precious  volumes,  which  she  returned 
only  after  having  read  them  all.  "  I  like  to  be 
here  in  Beverly  with  my  sister  and  the  children. 
I  think  I  am  more  human  here  than  at  school." 

The  following  records  were  made  with  feeling  in 
her  diary. 

April  10,  1865.  Waked  at  five  o'clock  this 
morning,  to  hear  bells  ringing  for  the  surrender  of 
Lee's  army ;  robins  screaming,  and  guns  booming 
from  the  fort.  The  war's  "  Finis  ;  "  Glory  Halle- 
lujah ! 

April  15.  Starting  for  Boston,  the  bells  began 
to  toll.  The  President's  assassination  is  the  re^jort. 
The  morning  papers  confirm  the  truth.  Sadness 
and  indignation  everywhere.     The   Rebellion  has 


LETTERS  AND  WORK.  157 

struck  its  most  desperate  blow,  but  the  Nation 
moves  calmly  on. 

April  19.  The  President's  funeral.  Every  place 
of  business  closed.  Services  in  all  the  churches. 
I  went  to  the  Old  South,  and  heard  a  brief  and  in- 
dignant speech,  which  received  the  people's  earnest 
response. 

May  14,  Sunday.  Bells  ringing  for  the  capture 
of  Jeff  Davis. 

In  1865,  Miss  Larcom  became  one  of  the  editors 
of  the  new  magazine  for  young  people,  "  Our  Young 
Folks,"  and  retained  this  position  until  1872,  when 
"  St.  Nicholas  "  inherited  the  good-will  and  patron- 
age of  the  earlier  magazine.  The  orange-colored 
periodical  bore  her  name,  and  those  of  Gail  Hamil- 
ton and  Trowbridge,  and  usually  contained  a  ballad 
or  prose  sketch  by  her,  or  else  she  contributed  some 
of  the  answers  in  the  "  Letter  Box."  Her  work  was 
performed  with  conscientiousness  and  good  taste ; 
her  sympathy  with  child-life  made  her  a  valuable 
assistant  in  making  the  magazine  popular.  She 
was  interested  in  its  success :  " '  Our  Young  Folks  ' 
greatly  delights  grown  people  everywhere.  I  am 
very  glad  of  an  occasional  criticism  that  offers  a 
hint  of  an  improvement.  It  must  be  made  to  dis- 
tance all  competitors  in  value,  as  it  does  in  patron- 


age." 


To  be  in  a  position  where  she  had  the  power  to 
reject  or  accept  hundreds  of  manuscripts  sent  for 
approval,  interested  her,  but  she  had  so  much  sym- 


158  LUCY    LAECOM. 

pathy  for  the  struggling  author,  that,  contrary  to 
the  usual  custom  of  the  "  Editorial  Dej^artment," 
she  often  sent  a  personal  note  of  explanation.  She 
could  not  lielj)  laughing  over  the  strange  letters  she 
received,  though  she  usually  answered  them  politely. 
One  woman  wrote,  asking  her  advice  as  to  the  sale 
of  three  hundred  barrels  of  apples.  Musicians  sent 
her  music,  requesting  her  to  write  words  to  suit. 
A  young  girl  wrote  that  she  was  "  young,  poor, 
and  orphaned,"  thus  appealing  to  the  editorial  sym- 
pathies, and  requested  her  to  arbitrate  concerning 
the  merit  of  two  poems,  "  The  Angel  Whisper " 
and  "  One  of  the  Chosen,"  for  some  one  had  prom- 
ised to  give  her  five  dollars  and  a  new  hat,  if  her 
own  poem  should  be  successful.  Modesty  was  not 
always  a  virtue  with  these  applicants.  One  wrote : 
"  Editors,  Sir  and  Madam,  —  I  send  you  a  palin- 
drome, which  you  know  is  a  curiosity.  I  saw  a  list, 
the  other  day,  said  to  be  the  best  in  the  language, 
but  this  excels  them  all,  as  it  represents  a  complete 
idea  of  spiritual  philosophy.  I  should  like  to  open 
a  school  of  ideas  for  children.  I  believe  this  would 
add  to  your  subscription  list."  Another  announced 
the  strange  theory,  that "  languages  were  originated 
with  references  to  correspondence  between  the 
visible  and  invisible  world."  Another  facetiously 
remarked,  making  application  for  a  position,  "Any- 
thing but  to  count  money,  for  I  have  not  had  ex- 
perience in  this  form  of  labor." 

Miss  Larcom   published,  in  1866,  the  valuable 
collection  of   extracts   from   religious  writings, — 


LETTERS    AND    WORE.  159 

"  Breatliino-s  of  the  Better  Life."  It  was  received 
with  warm  welcome,  and  reprinted  in  England, 
without,  however,  being  accredited  to  the  author. 
It  contained  the  passages  she  had  discovered  in  her 
reading  of  many  books,  to  which  she  wanted  to  give 
a  wider  circulation  among  those  who  might  not  pos- 
sess the  volumes.  This  little  book  represents  the 
development  of  her  religious  thought  along  deeply- 
spiritual  lines.  Her  favorite  authors  are  repre- 
sented, —  Kobertson,  Bushnell,  Tholuck,  and  now 
and  then  a  little  poem  by  George  Herbert,  Ma- 
dame Guyon,  or  Mrs.  Browning  is  given.  The 
subjects  treated  are  characteristic  of  her  thought : 
"The  Kingdom  within  the  Soul,"  "The  Way  of 
Access,"  "  Life  Eternal,"  "  Shadows  cast  over 
Other  Lives,"  "  The  Bearing  of  the  Cross,"  "  The 
Fullness  of  Life,"  "The  Illuminated  Gateway," 
and  "  The  Glory  Beyond." 

TO    MB.    J.  T.  FIELDS. 

Beverly,  Mass.,  May  20,  1866. 

My  dear  Mr.  Fields,  —  Before  you  escape 
for  the  summer,  I  want  to  bother  you  with  a  word 
or  two  about  the  "  Breathings."  I  find  that  people 
are  imagining  I  have  been  very  industrious  this 
winter,  by  the  way  they  talk  about  my  new  book, 
which  they  suppose  is  something  original.  I  don't 
want  to  give  wrong  impressions  in  that  way,  as  the 
selections  are  more  valuable  on  their  own  account 
than  on  mine. 

When  it  is  time  to  announce  it,  can  it  not  be  de- 


IGO  LUCY  LAB  COM. 

scribed  as  "  a  compilation  of  brief  extracts  in  prose 
and  verse,  from  favorite  religious  writers,"  or  some- 
thing to  that  effect.  And  must  my  name  appear  in 
full  ?  The  commonplace  "  Miss  Larcom  "  I  should 
like  better  than  my  usual  staring  alliteration ;  as 
less  obtrusive,  "L.  L."  is  better  still. 

And  please  let  the  book  be  as  inexpensive  as  pos- 
sible, because  it  is  my  "  little  preach,"  and  I  want 
a  large  congregation  of  poor  folks  like  myself.  My 
object  in  preparing  it  will  be  defeated,  if  they  can- 
not have  it. 

I  don't  calculate  upon  a  "  paper  fractional "  from 
it  for  myself,  so  you  can  leave  that  entirely  out  of 
consideration.  It  has  been  altogether  a  labor  of 
love  with  me.  I  wanted  the  good  people  to  know 
who  their  best  instructors  are.  Robertson  above 
all,  who  is  the  true  apostle  of  this  age,  within  the 
Church.  Yours  sincerely, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

TO  MRS.  J.  T.  FIELDS. 

Bevkrly,  Mass.,  May  20,  1866. 
Dear  Annie,  —  If  I  could  only  make  you  feel 
the  difference  in  myself  coming  home  through 
the  apple-blooms  last  night,  and  going  to  Boston 
Wednesday  morning,  I  think  you  would  know  that 
you  had  not  lived  in  vain,  for  a  few  of  the  beauti- 
ful May-day  hours.  I  bring  such  refreshment  from 
you  always !  I  wonder  if  you  do  not  feel  that 
something  is  gone  out  from  you,  or  are  you  like  the 
flowers,   that   find   an   infinite  sweetness  in   their 


LETTERS  AND  WORK.  161 

hearts,  replacing  constantly  what  they  give  away  ? 
So  much  I  must  say  in  love  and  gratitude,  and  you 
must  pardon  it,  because  it  is  sincere. 

I  have  copied  the  rhyme  note  for  you.  If  I  did 
not  feel  so  very  "stingy"  (it's  the  word!)  about 
our  Mr.  Whittier's  letters,  I  should  give  you  the 
original,  for  I  think  it  belongs  to  you  almost  as 
much  as  to  me.  But  possession  is  nine  tenths  of 
the  law,  you  know,  and  I  am  a  real  miser  about 
the  letters  of  a  friend,  —  ashamed  as  I  am  to  own 
it  to  one  so  generous  to  me  as  you  are.  ,  .  . 

The  "  rhyme  note  "  mentioned  was  a  delightful 
doggerel  from  Mr.  Whittier. 

Amesbury,  March  25,  1866. 

Believe  me,  Luoy  Larcom,  it  gives  me  real  sorrow 
That  I  cannot  take  my  carpet-bag,  and  go  to  town  to-morrow  ; 
But  I  'm  "  Snow-bound,"  and  cold  on  cold,  like  layers  of  an  onion, 
Have  piled  my  back,  and  weighed  me  down,  as  with  the  pack  of 
Bunyan. 

The  north-east  wind  is  damper,  and  the  north-west  wind  is  colder. 

Or  else  the  matter  simply  is  that  I  am  growing  older ; 

And  then,  I  dare  not  trust  a  moon  seen  over  one's  left  shoulder 

As  I  saw  this,  witli  slender  horn  caught  in  a  west  hill-pine. 

As  on  a  Stamboul  minaret  curves  the  Arch  Impostor's  sign. 

So  I  must  stay  in  Amesbury,  and  let  you  go  your  way, 

And  guess  what  colors  greet  your  eyes,  what  shapes  your  steps 

delay. 
What  pictured  forms  of  heathen  love,  of  god  and  goddess  please  you. 
What  idol  graven  images  you  bend  your  wicked  knees  to. 

But  why  should  I  of  evil  dream,  well  knowing  at  your  head  goes 
That  flower  of  Christian  womanhood,  our  dear  good  Anna  Mead- 
ows! 


182  LUCY  LARCOM. 

She  '11  be  discreet,  I  'm  sure,  although,  once,  in  a  fit  romantic, 
She  flung  the  Doge's  bridal  ring,  and  married  the  "  Atlantic ;  " 
And  spite  of  all  appearances,  like  the  woman  in  the  shoe, 
She  's  got  so  many  "  Young  Folks  "  now  she  don't  know  what  to  do. 

But  I  must  say,  I  think  it  strange  that  thee  and  Mrs.  Spalding, 
Whose  lives  with  Calvin's  five-barred  creed  have  been  so  tightly 

walled  in. 
Should  quit  your  Puritanic  homes,  and  take  the  pains  to  go 
So  far,  with  malice  aforethought,  to  walk  in  a  vain  show ! 
Did  Emmons  hunt  for  pictures  ?  was  Jonathan  Edwards  peeping 
Into  the  chambers  of  imagery  with  maids  for  Tanunuz  weeping  ? 

Ah,  well,  the  times  are  sadly  changed,  and  I  myself  am  feeling 
The  wicked  world  my  Quaker  coat  from  oif  my  shoulders  peeling ; 
God  grant  that,  in  the  strange  new  sea  of  cliange  wherein  we  swim, 
We  still  may  keep  the  good  old  plank  of  simple  faith  in  Him ! 

P.  S.    My  housekeeper's  got  the  "tissick,"  and  gone  away,  and 

Lizzie 
Is  at  home  for  the  vacation,  with  flounce  and  trimmings  busy  ; 
The  snow  lies  white  about  us,  the  birds  again  are  dumb,  — 
The  lying  blue-frocked  rascals  who  told  us  Spring  had  come  ; 
But  in  the  woods  of  Folly-Mill  the  sweet  May-flowers  are  making 
All  ready  for  the  moment  of  Nature's  glad  awaking. 

Come  when  they  come  ;  their  welcome  share  :  —  except  when  at 

the  city. 
For  months  I  've  scarce  seen  womankind,  save  when,  in  sheerest 

Gail  Hamilton  came  up,  beside  my  lonely  hearth  to  sit. 
And  make  the  Winter  evening  glad  with  wisdom  and  with  wit 
And  fancy,  feeling  but  the  spur  and  not  the  curbing  bit. 
Lending  a  womanly  charm  to  what  before  was  bachelor  rudeness  ;  — 
The  Lord  reward  her  for  an  act  of  disinterested  goodness  ! 

And  now,  with  love  to  Mrs.  F.,  and  Mrs.  S.  (God  bless  her !), 
And  hoping  that  my  foolish  rhyme  may  not  prove  a  transgressor. 
And  wishing  for  your  sake  and  mine,  it  wiser  were  and  wittier, 
I  leave  it,  and  subscribe  myself,  your  old  friend, 

John  G.  Whittier. 


LETTERS  AND  WORK.  163 

TO  MRS.  J.  T.  FIELDS. 

Bevkrly,  June  21,  1866. 

Dear  Annie,  —  Here  I  am  once  more  by  the  salt 
sea,  and  out  of  the  beautiful  retreat  of  the  Shakers, 
where  we  said  "  Good-by." 

"  Aimt  Mary  "  told  me  I  might  come  again,  and 
if  it  were  not  for  the  vision  of  that  great  dining- 
room,  and  the  "  two  settings  "  of  brethren  and  sis- 
ters, and  the  general  wash-basin,  I  should  almost  be 
tempted  to  go  also,  and  steej)  myself  in  that  great 
quietness :  only  one  would  need  a  book  now  and 
then,  and  literature  seems  to  be  tabooed  among 
them. 

Mr.  Whittier  was  much  interested  to  hear  of  our 
adventures.  I  think  I  must  have  been  eloquent 
about  cider,  for  he  said,  "  I  wish  I  had  some  of  it 
this  minute,"  so  earnestly  that  I  wished  I  had  my 
hand  upon  that  invisible  Shaker  barrel.  .  .  . 

TO  MRS.  CELIA  THAXTER. 

Beverly,  July  16,  1867. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  To  think  that  yesterday  I 
was  among  the  Enchanted  Isles,  and  to-day  here, 
with  only  the  warm  murmur  of  the  west  wind  among 
the  elms  !  The  glory  of  the  day  and  the  far  east- 
ern sea  lingers  with  me  yet.  How  I  do  thank  you 
for  those  three  bright  days !  The  undercurrent  of 
memory  woidd  have  been  too  much  but  for  your 
kindness. 

I  think  I  kept  it  well  covered,  but  there  was  a 


1G4  LUCY   LARCOM. 

vast  unrest  in  me,  all  those  days.  I  seemed  to  my- 
self wandering  over  the  turfy  slopes,  and  the  rocks, 
and  the  sea,  in  search  of  a  dream,  a  sweet,  impal- 
pable presence  that  ever  eluded  me.  I  never  knew 
how  fully  dear  Lizzie  ^  filled  my  heart,  until  she  was 
gone.  Is  it  always  so  ?  But  that  Island  is  Lizzie 
to  me,  now.  It  was  the  refuge  of  her  dreams,  when 
she  could  not  be  there  in  reality.  Her  whole  being 
seemed  to  blossom  out  into  the  immense  spaces  of 
the  sea.  I  am  glad  that  I  have  been  there  once 
again,  and  with  only  the  dear  brother,  and  you 
whom  she  loved  and  admired  so  much.  For  you  are 
an  enchantress.  It  is  a  great  gift  to  attract  and 
to  hold  as  you  can,  and  rare,  even  among  women. 
To  some  it  is  a  snare,  but  I  do  not  believe  it  ever 
can  be  to  you,  because  the  large  generosity  of  the 
sea  was  born  into  you.  How  can  you  help  it,  if 
your  waves  overblow  with  music,  and  all  sorts  of 
mysterious  wealth  upon  others  of  us  humans?  I 
hope  you  beguiled  our  friend  into  a  stay  of  more 
than  the  one  day  he  spoke  of.  It  was  doing  him  so 
much  good  to  be  there,  in  that  free  and  easy  way; 
just  the  life  he  ought  to  lead  for  half  the  year, 
at  least.  I  shall  always  use  my  meagre  arts  most 
earnestly  to  get  him  to  the  Island  when  you  are 
there.  There  is  such  a  difference  in  human  atmos- 
pheres, you  know  ;  the  petty,  east- wind  blighted  in- 
habitants of  towns  are  not  good  for  the  health  of 
such  as  he.  I  esteem  it  one  of  the  wonderfid  bless- 
ings of  my  life  that  he  does  not  feel  uncomfortable 
1  Elizabeth  Whittier. 


LETTERS  AND  WORK.  165 

when  I  am  about.  With  you,  there  is  the  added 
element  of  exhilaration,  the  rarest  thing  to  receive, 
as  one  gets  into  years. 

It  is  a  sacred  trust,  the  friendship  of  such  a  man. 

TO  MISS  JEAN  INGELOW. 

Beverly,  Mass.,  December  15,  1867. 

My  dear  Miss  Ingelow,  —  It  was  very  kind  of 
you  to  write  to  me,  and  I  can  hardly  tell  you  how 
much  pleasure  your  letter  gave  me,  in  ray  at  present 
lonely  and  unsettled  life.  I  think  a  woman's  life 
is  necessarily  lonely,  if  unsettled  :  the  home-instinct 
lies  so  deep  in  us.  But  I  have  never  had  a  real 
home  since  I  was  a  little  child.  I  have  married 
sisters,  with  whom  I  stay,  when  my  work  allows  it, 
but  that  is  not  like  one's  own  place.  I  want  a 
corner  exclusively  mine,  in  which  to  spin  my  own 
web  and  ravel  it  again,  if  I  wish. 

I  wish  I  could  leai*n  to  think  my  own  thoughts 
in  the  thick  of  other  people's  lives,  but  I  never 
could,  and  I  am  too  old  to  begin  now.  However, 
there  are  compensations  in  all  things,  and  I  would 
not  be  out  of  reach  of  the  happy  children's  voices, 
which  echo  round  me,  although  they  will  break  in 
upon  me  rather  suddenly,  sometimes. 

You  asked  about  the  sea,  —  our  sea.  The  coast 
here  is  not  remarkable.  Just  here  there  is  a  deep, 
sunny  harbor,  that  sheltered  the  second  company 
of  the  Pilgrim  settlers  from  the  Mother-Country, 
more  than  two  centuries  ago.  A  little  river, 
which  has  leave  to  be  such  only  at  the  return  of  the 


166  LUCY    LARCOM. 

tide,  half  clasps  the  town  in  its  crooked  arm,  and 
makes  many  an  opening  of  beauty  twice  a  day, 
among  the  fields  and  under  the  hills.  The  harbor  is 
so  shut  in  by  islands,  it  has  the  effect  of  a  lake  ;  and 
the  tide  comes  up  over  the  wide,  weedy  flats,  with 
a  gentle  and  gradual  flow.  There  are  never  any 
dangerous  "  High  Tides  "  here.  But  up  the  shore 
a  mile  or  two,  the  islands  drift  away,  and  the  sea 
opens  gradually  as  we  near  the  storm-beaten  point 
of  Cape  Ann,  where  we  can  see  nothing  but 
the  waves  and  the  ships,  between  us  and  Great 
Britain.  The  granite  cliffs  grow  higher  towards 
the  Cape,  but  their  hollows  are  relieved  by  little 
thickets  of  intensely  red  wild  roses,  and  later,  by 
the  purple  twinkling  asters  and  the  golden-rod's 
embodied  sunshine. 

The  east  wind  is  bitter  upon  our  coast.  The 
wild  rocks  along  the  Cape  are  strewn  with  mem- 
ories of  shipwreck.  Perhaps  you  remember  Long- 
fellow's "  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus."  The  "  Reef  of 
Norman's  Woe  "  is  at  Cape  Ann,  ten  miles  or  so 
from  here.  About  the  same  distance  out,  there 
is  a  group  of  islands,  —  the  Isles  of  Shoals,  which 
are  a  favorite  resort  in  the  summer,  and  getting  to 
be  somewhat  too  fashionable,  for  their  charm  is  the 
wildness  which  they  reveal  and  allow.  Dressed 
up  people  spoil  nature,  somehow ;  iinintentionally, 
I  suppose  ;  but  the  human  butterflies  are  better  in 
their  own  parterres.  At  Appledore,  one  of  the 
larger  of  these  islands,  I  have  spent  many  happy 
days  with   the  sister  of   our  poet  Whittier,  now 


LETTERS  AND  WORK.  167 

passed  to  the  eternal  shores,  —  and  the  last  sum- 
mer was  there  again,  without  her,  alas !  I  missed 
her  so,  even  though  her  noble  brother  was  there ! 
Perhaps  that  only  recalled  the  lost,  lovely  days  too 
vividly.    I  have  seldom  loved  any  one  as  I  loved  her. 

These  islands  are  full  of  strange  gorges  and 
caverns,  haunted  with  stories  of  pirate  and  ghost. 
The  old-world  romance  seems  to  have  floated  to 
them.  And  there  I  first  saw  your  English  pim- 
pernel. It  came  here  with  the  Pilgrims,  I  suppose, 
as  it  is  not  a  native.  It  is  j^leasant  to  meet  with 
these  emigrant  flowers.  Most  of  them  are  carefully 
tended  in  gardens,  but  some  are  healthily  natural- 
ized in  the  bleakest  spots.  I  should  so  like  to  see 
the  daisies  —  Chaucer's  daisies  —  in  their  native 
fields;  and  the  "yellow  primrose,"  too.  Neither 
of  these  grows  readily  in  our  gardens.  I  have  seen 
them  only  as  petted  house-plants. 

I  recognize  some  of  our  wild  flowers  in  your 
"  Songs  of  Seven."  By  the  way,  Mr.  Niles  has 
sent  me  an  illustrated  cojjy  of  it,  and  what  a  gem 
it  is  !  But  I  hardly  know  what  are  especially  ours. 
Have  you  the  tiny  blue  four-jjetaled  "  Houstonia 
CcErulia  "  ?  —  our  first  flower  of  spring,  that  and  the 
rock-saxifrage !  And  is  October  in  England  glad- 
dened with  the  heavenly  azure  of  the  fringed  gen- 
tian ?  And  does  the  climbing  bitter-sweet  hang  its 
orange-colored  frviit  high  in  the  deep  green  of  the 
pine-trees,  in  the  autumn?  The  most  wonderful 
climber  I  ever  saw  was  the  trumpet-vine  of  the 
AVest.     It  grew  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi, 


1G8  LUCY    LARCOM. 

climbing-  to  the  top  of  immense  primeval  trees, 
bursting-  out,  there,  into  great  red,  clarion  -  like 
flowers.  It  seems  literally  to  fix  a  foot  in  the  trees 
as  it  climbs,  —  and  it  has  an  uncivilized  way  of 
pulling  the  shingles  off  the  roofs  of  the  houses  over 
which  it  is  trained.  I  am  glad  that  violets  are 
common  property  in  the  world.  The  prairies  are 
blue  with  them.  How  at  home  they  used  to  make 
me  feel !  for  they  are  New  England  blossoms  too. 

I  wonder  if  you  like  the  mountains  as  well  as 
you  do  the  sea.  I  am  afraid  I  do,  and  better,  even. 
It  seems  liaK  disloyal  to  say  so,  for  I  was  born  here ; 
to  me  there  is  rest  and  strength,  and  aspiration 
and  exultation,  among  the  mountains.  They  are 
nearly  a  day's  journey  from  us  —  the  White  Moun- 
tains —  but  I  will  go,  and  get  a  glimpse  and  a  breath 
of  their  glory,  once  a  year,  always.  I  was  at  Winni- 
piseogee,  a  mountain-girdled  lake,  in  New  Hamp- 
shire, when  I  saw  your  handwriting,  first,  —  in  a 
letter  which  told  of  your  having  been  in  Switzer- 
land. We  have  no  sky-cleaving  Alps,  —  there  is  a 
massiveness,  a  breadth,  about  the  hill  scenery  here, 
quite  unlike  them,  I  fancy.  But  such  cascades, 
such  streams  as  rise  in  the  hard  granite,  pure  as 
liquid  diamonds,  and  with  a  clear  little  thread  of 
music ! 

I  usually  stop  at  a  village  on  the  banks  of  the 
Pemigewasset,  a  small  silvery  river  that  flows  from 
the  Notch  Mountains,  —  a  noble  pile,  that  hangs 
like  a  dream,  and  flits  like  one  too,  in  the  cloudy 
air,  as  you  follow  the  stream's  winding  up  to  the 


LETTERS  AND  WORE.  169 

Flume,  which  is  a  strange  grotto,  cut  sharply  down 
hundreds  of  feet  through  a  mountain's  heart;  an 
immense  boulder  was  lodged  in  the  cleft  when  it 
was  riven,  half  way  down,  and  there  it  forever 
hangs,  over  the  singing  stream.  The  sundered 
rocks  are  dark  with  pines,  and  I  never  saw  any- 
thing lovelier  than  the  green  light  with  which  the 
grotto  is  flooded  by  the  afternoon  sun.  But  I 
must  not  go  on  about  the  mountains,  or  I  shall 
never  stop,  —  I  want  to  say  something  about  our 
poets,  but  I  Avill  not  do  that,  either. 

Beauty  drifts  to  us  from  the  mother-land,  across 
the  sea,  in  argosies  of  poetry.  How  rich  we  are 
with  Old  England's  wealth!  Our  own  lies  yet 
somewhat  in  the  ore,  but  I  think  we  have  the  genu- 
ine metal. 

How  true  it  is,  as  you  say,  that  we  can  never 
utter  the  best  that  is  in  us,  poets  or  not.  And  the 
great  true  voices  are  so,  not  so  much  because  they 
can  speak  for  themselves,  but  because  they  are  the 
voices  of  our  common  humanity. 

The  poets  are  but  leaders  in  the  chorus  of  souls, 
—  they  utter  our  paeans  and  our  misereres^  and  so 
we  feel  that  they  belong  to  us.  It  is  indeed  a 
divine  gift,  the  power  of  drawing  hearts  upward 
through  the  magic  of  a  song ;  and  the  anointed  ones 
must  receive  their  chrism  with  a  holy  humility. 
They  receive  but  to  give  again,  —  "  more  blessed  " 
so.  And  they  may  also  receive  the  gratitude  of 
those  they  bless,  to  give  it  back  to  God. 

I  hope  you  will  write  to  me  again  some  time, 


170  LUCY  LAECOM. 

tliough  I  am  afraid  I  ought  not  to  expect  it.  I 
know  what  it  is  to  have  the  day  too  short  for  the 
oceiijjations  which  must  fill  it,  —  to  say  nothing  of 
what  might,  very  pleasantly,  too. 

But  I  shall  always  be  sincerely  and  gratefully 
yours,  Lucy  Larcom. 

TO  J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

Bevekly,  February  28,  1868. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  Nothing  would  be  pleas- 
anter  to  me  than  a  visit  to  Amesbury,  and  the  cold 
weather  is  no  especial  drawback.  But  I  cannot  be 
away  from  Beverly  now,  my  mother  is  so  ill.  She 
has  been  suffering  very  much  all  winter,  but  is  now 
nearly  helpless,  and  I  think  she  is  rapidly  failing. 
She  has  an  experienced  nurse  with  her,  and  there 
is  little  that  any  of  us  can  do  for  her,  except  to 
look  in  now  and  then,  and  let  her  know  that  her 
children  are  not  far  away.  That  seems  to  be  her 
principal  earthly  comfort.  The  coming  rest  is  very 
welcome  to  her.  She  lies  peacefully  hoping  for  it, 
and  she  has  suffered,  and  still  does,  such  intense 
pain,  I  cannot  feel  as  I  otherwise  would  about  her 
leaving  us.  But  the  rending  of  these  familiar  ties 
is  always  very  hard  to  bear.  She  has  been  a  good, 
kind  mother  to  me,  and  it  is  saddest  of  all  to  see 
her  suffer  without  the  power  of  relief  ;  to  know  that 
death  only  can  end  her  pain. 

I  think  of  you  often,  and  wish  I  could  sit  down 
for  an  evening  by  the  light  of  your  cheery  wood 
fire,  and  have  one  of  the  old-time  chats.     I  am  so 


LETTERS  AND  WORE.  171 

glad  that  A is  there,  to  make  it  homelike.     I 

think  my  most  delightful  remembrances  of  Ames- 
bury  are  of  that  fireside,  and  the  faces  gathered 
about  it,  upon  which  the  soft  flow  of  the  flames 
flickered  and. kindled,  with  the  playful  and  vary- 
ing interchange  of  thought.  Last  Sunday  night  I 
spent  at  Harriet  Pitman's.  Cold  enough  it  was, 
too.  But  the  greenhouse  is  a  small  edition  of  the 
tropics,  and  full  of  blossoms  and  sweet  odors.  I 
should  want  to  live  in  it,  if  I  were  there. 

I  do  not  know  what  to  make  of  the  aspect  of 
things  at  Washington.  It  cannot  be  that  we  shall 
be  left  to  plunge  into  another  war,  and  yet  we  may 
need  it.  I  do  not  see  that  our  terrible  struggle 
made  the  deep  impression  it  should  in  establish- 
ing national  principles.  Only  apathy  to  the  most 
vital  interests  could  have  brought  us  to  this  pass. 
It  seems  as  if  A.  J.  must  show  himself  an  absolute 
fiend,  before  his  removal  is  insisted  upon. 

Miss  Larcom's  mother  died  March  14,  1868. 
The  bereavement  was  great;  but  the  long  illness 
had  prepared  her  daughter  for  the  affliction.  Years 
afterwards  she  used  to  say  that  when  in  trouble  or 
despondency,  like  a  child  she  wanted  to  cry  out  for 
her  mother. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WRITINGS   AND   LETTERS. 

1868-1880. 

Though  Miss  Larcom's  formal  connection  with 
school  life  ended  when  she  left  Norton,  she  con- 
tinued to  deliver  occasional,  and  sometimes  weekly, 
lectures  at  different  schools,  on  topics  illustrating 
English  literature.  In  1867,  and  at  intervals  for 
years  after,  at  the  Ipswich  Academy,  at  Wheaton, 
at  Dr.  Gannett's  school,  and  at  Bradford  Academy, 
the  students  never  forgot  her  addresses  on  "  Crit- 
icism," "  Elizabethan  Poetry,"  "  The  Drama,"  and 
"  Sidney's  'Arcadia.' " 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  received  a  fair  salary 
from  ''  Our  Young  Folks,"  and  added  to  her  re- 
sources by  teaching  and  by  printing  poems  in  the 
magazines,  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  practice  econ- 
omy. With  the  intention  of  being  careful  in  her 
expenditures,  she  took  rooms  in  Boston,  purchasing 
and  cooking  her  own  food.  She  alluded  to  the  plan 
thus :  "  In  my  housekeeping  plan,  I  am  going  to 
carry  out  a  pet  notion.  People  generally  prefer 
indigestible  food,  I  find ;  at  least,  I  cannot  often  get 
what  I  can  digest.  So  I  am  going  to  teach  myself 
to  make  unleavened  bread,  and  all  sorts  of  coarse- 


WHITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  173 

grained  eatables,  and  these,  with  figs  and  dates, 
and  baked  apples,  and  a  little  meat  now  and  then, 
will  keej)  me  in  clover."  Her  friends,  hearing  of 
the  way  in  which  she  "  caricatured  housekeeping," 
sent  her  boxes  full  of  good  things.  It  was  with 
the  pleasure  of  a  school  girl  receiving  a  Thanksgiv- 
ing box,  that  she  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  eggs, 
cranberries,  apples,  and  "  such  exquisitely  sweet 
butter."  She  proved  that  with  very  little  expense 
one  can  be  happy,  if  the  spirit  is  cheerful.  This 
incident  is  an  illustration  of  a  lifetime  of  economi- 
cal living. 

The  year  1868  was  an  important  one  to  her,  for 
in  it  her  first  volume  of  verse  was  printed.  Influ- 
enced by  the  wishes  of  her  friends  for  a  keepsake, 
and  feeling  that,  if  she  published,  it  would  be  a 
record  of  work  done,  and  from  it,  as  a  mile-stone, 
she  would  be  encouraged  to  do  better  verse-making 
in  the  future,  she  launched  upon  the  literary  market 
her  book,  entitled  simply  "Poems."  It  contained 
many  of  the  lyrics  upon  which  her  fame  as  a  poet 
will  always  be  based.  "  Hannah,"  and  "  Skipper 
Ben,"  and  "  Hilary  "  have  a  place  in  it.  "  Hand  in 
Hand  with  Angels  "  keeps  before  one  the  thought 
of  unseen  spiritual  presences.  "A  Year  in  Hea- 
ven "  reminds  one  of  the  life  beyond,  while  "At  the 
Beautiful  Gate  "  expresses  the  longing  of  the  soul 
for  greater  truth :  — 

"  Lord,  open  the  door,  for  I  falter, 
I  faint  in  this  stifled  air." 

The    sweet    quietude    of    "The    Chamber    called 


174  LUCY    LABCOM. 

Peace "  surrounds  the  reader,  for  it  merited  Mr. 
Wliittier's  remark  that  "  it  is  really  one  of  the 
sweetest  poems  of  -  Christian  consolation  I  have 
read."  The  rich,  full  notes  of  "  A  Thanksgiving  " 
are  heard,  as  a  human  soul  pours  forth  its  earnest 
gratitude :  — 

"  For  the  world's  exhaustless  beauty, 
I  thank  thee,  0  my  God !  " 

About  this  poem,  Rev.  J.  W.  Chadwick  said  to  her, 
"  Your  "  Thanksgiving  "  has  become  ritual  in  my 
church.  If  the  people  did  not  hear  it  every  year, 
they  would  think  the  times  were  out  of  joint." 

Miss  Ingelow  wrote  her  that  she  liked  best  "  A 
White  Sunday,"  with  its  hopeful  lines,  expressing 
"  the  earnest  expectation  of  the  creature  :  "  — 

"  The  World  we  live  in  wholly  is  redeemed  ; 
Not  man  alone,  but  all  that  man  holds  dear  : 
His  orchards  and  his  maize  ;  forget-me-not 
And  heart's-ease,  in  his  garden  ;  and  the  wild 
Aerial  blossoms  of  the  untrained  wood, 
That  makes  its  savagery  so  home-like  ;  all 
Have  felt  Christ's  sweet  Love  watering  their  roots 
His  Sacrifice  has  won  both  Earth  and  Heaven." 

The  "  Poems  "  were  well  received  everywhere,  and 
the  reviewers  were  generally  most  complimentary. 
It  was  seen  at  once  that  a  real  poet,  of  true  inspi- 
ration, had  taken  a  permanent  place  in  American 
literature.  The  musical  modulations  of  the  verse, 
with  its  tender  lyrical  quality,  its  local  New  Eng- 
land coloring,  and  its  strong  moral  sentiment,  soon 
gained  her  the  affections  of  the  people. 

The  name  "  Lucy  Larcom  "  was  now  well  known ; 


WRITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  175 

but,  curiously  enough,  it  was  not  associated  with 
her  personality,  for  it  was  thought  to  be  a  fictitious 
name,  with  "  Apt  alliteration's  artful  aid.'"  A  habit 
common  among  certain  authors  of  the  day  was  to 
have  such  euphonious  no77is  de  plume  as  "  Minnie 
Myrtle,"  "  Fanny  Forrester,"  "  Grace  Greenwood ; " 
and  it  was  natural  that  "  Lucy  Larcom "  should 
be  classed  with  them.  She  often  had  amusing 
encounters  with  strangers  about  her  identity.  On 
the  cars  one  day,  a  woman  changed  her  seat  for 
one  in  front  of  Miss  Larcom,  and,  turning  round, 
put  the  question,  "  Are  you  really  Lucy  Larcom, 
the  poet?     Some  one  said  you  were." 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  name." 

"  Then  it  is  not  a  made-up  name  ?  Well,  we 
never  thought  it  was  real  when  we  read  your  pieces  ; 
and  we  thought  you  were  younger." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you." 

"  Oh !  You  don't  disappoint  me  !  I  like  the 
looks  of  you ;  only,  people  will  have  their  ideas 
about  poets." 

A  gentleman  who  had  just  been  introduced  to 
her  was  discussing  the  subject  of  names.  He  asked 
the  derivation  of  her  name;  she  told  him  that  it 
was  originally  "  Lark-Holme,"  the  home  of  the 
larks ;  then  he  said,  "  Is  there  not  some  one  who 
takes  your  name,  and  writes  poetry,  calling  herself 
'  Lucy  Larcom  '  ?     I  never  read  any  of  the  stuff." 

In  1872,  she  did  her  first  work  of  collaboration 
with  Mr.  Whittier.  Conceiving  the  plan  of  print- 
ing a  volume  of   poems   dealing  with   the  life  of 


176  LUCY  LABCOM. 

children,  lie  secured  her  aid,  and  "Child -Life" 
was  the  first  book  which  they  produced  in  this  way. 
He  deferred  to  her  judgment  in  the  selection  of 
the  material,  and,  when  doubtful,  he  always  ac- 
cepted her  opinion.  In  sending  her  some  poems 
for  the  collection,  he  wrote,  "  I  leave  thee  to  thy 
judgment ;  I  think  they  will  do,  but  I  defer  to  thy 
wisdom."  Her  name  is  thus  associated  with  the 
happy  hours  of  many  children,  who  were,  and  are, 
brought  up  on  the  wholesome  verses  of  this  nursery 
book.  "  The  Owl  and  the  Pussycat,"  "  The  Spider 
and  the  Fly,"  and  "  Philip,  my  King,"  with  appro- 
priate pictures,  first  became  known  to  thousands  of 
children,  from  this  green-covered  daily  companion. 

"  Child-Life  in  Prose  "  came  as  a  natural  sequel 
to  child-life  in  poetiy  ;  and  Hawthorne's  "  Little 
Annie's  Ramble,"  Lamb's  "  Dream  Children," 
"  The  Ugly  Duckling "  of  Hans  Andersen,  and 
"  The  Story  without  End,"  were  made  familiar 
through  the  medium  of  its  pages. 

Doubtless  influenced  by  these  publications,  Miss 
Larcom  decided  to  print,  in  a  volume  of  her  own, 
the  children's  poems  she  had  written,  especially 
those  for  "  Our  Young  Folks ; "  so  in  1873  her 
"  Childhood  Songs  "  appeared. 

Amesbury,  November  25, 1874. 

Dear  Friend,  —  I  have  just  been  looking  over 
the  beautiful  book  of  "Childhood  Songs,"  and  my 
judgment  is,  that  it  is  the  best  book  of  the  kind  I 
have  ever  seen.     It  has  many  poems,  which,  beside 


WBITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  Ill 

their  adaptation  to  children,  have  a  merit  as  lyrics, 
which  I  do  not  know  where  to  look  for  in  other  col- 
lections of  this  sort.  The  heart  is  generally  right 
in  such  books,  but  here  head  and  heart  are  both  sat- 
isfactory. 

We  did  not  get  uj)  so  good  a  book  as  this  in  our 
«  Child-Life."  Thy  friend, 

J.  G.  Whittier. 

TO  MRS.  MARY  MAPES  DODGE. 

Beverly  Farms,  December  3,  1874. 

Dear  Mrs.  Dodge,  —  The  publishers  assure 
me  that  they  sent  you  a  copy  of  "Childhood's 
Songs,"  as  I  requested.  I  hope  you  received  it,  at 
last.  I  care  to  have  you  like  it,  as  a  lover  of  chil- 
dren, quite  as  much  as  to  have  it  spoken  of  in  the 
magazine. 

Your  own  little  book  must  be  nice ;  I  hope  to  see 
it  when  I  go  to  Boston. 

Doubtless  you  are  right  about  the  verses.  I  al- 
ways accept  an  editor's  decision,  without  objecting, 
as  I  know  the  difficulties  of  the  position.  I  will 
write  when  I  can.  For  a  month  or  two,  I  shall  be 
specially  busy,  and  possibly  may  not  have  time  for 
"  St.  Nicholas,"  for  which  it  is  a  pleasure  to  write. 
Yours  most  truly,  LuCY  Larcom. 

TO    THE    SAME. 

Beverly  Farms,  December  30,  1874. 
My    DEAR     Mrs.    Dodge,  —  Your    charming 
"  Ehymes    and   Jiugies "    followed   your   pleasant 


178  LUCY  LAECOM. 

note,  and  I  thank  you  for  both.  The  book  is  just 
what  chihlren  most  enjoy,  as  a  real  mother's  book 
will  be  sure  to  be ;  and  you  have  some  sweet  little 
poems  which  seem  to  hide  themselves  too  modestly 
among  the  merry  rhymes. 

I  think  I  have  the  mother- feeling,  —  ideally, 
at  least ;  a  woman  is  not  a  woman  quite,  who  lacks 
it,  be  she  married  or  single.  The  children  —  God 
bless  them  !  —  belong  to  the  mother-heart  that  beats 
in  all  true  women.  They  seem  even  dearer,  some- 
times, because  I  have  none  of  my  own  to  love  and 
be  loved  by,  for  there  is  a  great  emptiness  that 
only  child-love  can  fill.  So  God  made  us,  and  I 
thank  Him  for  it.  The  world's  unmothered  ones 
would  be  worse  off  if  it  were  not  so. 

Thank  you  for  writing  of  yourself,  and  your  boys. 
I  wish  I  knew  you,  face  to  face.  I  am  sure  we 
should  find  ourselves  in  sympathy  in  many  ways. 

I  send  a  verse  or  two,  for  by  and  by,  when  the 
March  winds  blow. 

When  I  get  to  a  little  clearing  of  leisure,  I  will 
write  more  for  "  St.  Nicholas." 

Truly  your  friend, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

TO  MES.  J.  T.  FIELDS. 

Beverly  Farms,  December  5,  1875, 

Dear  Annie,  —  I  had  a  pleasant  little  visit  at 
Mrs.  Pitman's  after  I  left  you.  "W  e  went  to  Pro- 
fessor Thayer's,  in  Cambridge,  that  evening,  and 
heard  Emerson's   noble   paper   on "  Immortality,'' 


WRITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  179 

which  is  soon  to  be  published.  There  is  great  sat- 
isfaction in  hearing  such  words  from  such  a  man's 
own  lips,  for  we  know  that  Emerson  has  as  little  as 
mortal  can  have  of  the  haze  of  vanity  between  him- 
self and  the  truth  ;  and  it  is  this  surely,  oftener 
than  anything  else,  that  blinds  men's  minds  to  the 
open  secret  of  eternal  life. 

Mr.  Longfellow  was  there,  and  I  had  a  pleasant 
talk  with  him.  He  spoke  of  the  book  he  is  prepar- 
ing and  told  me  he  wanted  to  put  into  it  "  Hannah 
Binding  Shoes." 

Mr.  Garrison  and  Henry  Vincent,  the  lecturer, 
were  at  Mrs.  P.'s  the  next  day. 

I  have  been  in  Newburyport  since  I  left  Somer- 
ville,  at  my  friend  Mrs.  Spalding's.  Mr.  Whittier 
came  there  on  his  way  from  Boston,  and  I  did  not 
see  that  he  was  the  worse  for  the  woman-avalanche 
that  descended  upon  him  at  your  door.  .  .  . 

In  1875,  "  An  Idyl  of  Work,"  dedicated  to  work- 
ing women,  was  issued  by  Osgood  &  Co.  It  is  a 
long  poem  in  blank  verse,  written  chiefly  in  pen- 
tameters, and  describes  most  beautifully  the  life  of 
the  Lowell  factory  girls,  in  "  The  Forties."  There 
is  a  song  of  delight  in  work,  running  through  it  all. 
The  incidents  of  prosaic  labor  are  invested  with  a 
charm ;  and  the  toiler's  lot  is  shown  to  have  its 
bright  side  in  the  community  of  womanly  interests 
that  develop  strong  traits  of  character,  and  lead 
to  lifelong  attachments.  It  is  an  ejiic  of  labor, 
giving  a  history  of  an  episode  in  American  manu- 


180  LUCY    LAECOM. 

facture,  that  proved  how  mental  and  moral  culture 
can  be  aided  by  hand-work,  when  the  laborer  looks 
upon  his  occupation  as  his  privilege. 

In  the  following  year,  "  Roadside  Poems,"  a  well- 
edited  compilation  of  mountain  poetry,  added  a  new 
interest  to  the  country  and  the  mountains,  for  the 
summer  traveler.  Shelley,  Wordsworth,  Longfel- 
low, Browning,  and  Lowell,  were  made  to  act  as 
interpreters  of  the  wonders  of  the  lane,  and  the 
beauty  of  the  sunrise  over  mountain  sanctuaries,  and 
to  explain  the  meaning  of  the  storm  reverberating 
among  the  hills.  It  is  a  little  book  filled  with 
glimpses  of  the  sky,  the  fragrance  of  flowers,  the 
earth-smell  of  ferns,  and  the  coloring  of  autumn 
leaves. 

TO  J.   G.  WHITTIER. 

83  Waltham  Street,  Boston, 
January  1,  1878. 

...  Of  course  you  must  have  grown  very  tired 
of  the  poetry  written  to  you,  and  about  you.  I  sent 
my  verses  to  the  "  Transcript,"  because  I  thought 
you  seemed  too  much  pleased  to  think  I  had  spared 
you  the  infliction  !  Discipline  can  never  come  too 
late  in  life,  I  am  confident ! 

Still,  I  did  n't  say  a  word  more  than  the  truth, 
and  I  think  I  spoke  sincerely  for  many  others.  It 
is  a  great  thing  to  have  won  a  nation's  affection, 
—  much  greater  than  the  greatest  amount  of  mere 
fame. 

Judging  from  our  own  inside  view,  none  of  us 


WEITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  181 

deserve  to  be  as  well  thought  of  by  our  friends  as 
we  are  ;  but  the  beauty  of  it  is,  that  real  friendship 
knows  us  best  after  all,  because  it  sees  in  us  our 
best  aim,  endeavor,  and  possibilities,  and  lets  our 
failures  and  imperfections  jsass  by  and  be  forgotten. 
Why  not,  when  the  judge  is  always  so  imperfect, 
too? 

The  sum  of  which  is,  that  we  all  think  you  a 
pretty  good  sort  of  man,  as  men  go. 
Always  thy  friend, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

TO  MRS.  S.  I.  SPALDING. 

83  Waltham  Street,  January  17,  1878. 

I  have  been  reading  the  Book  of  Romans  through, 
trying  to  forget  that  I  had  ever  read  it  before,  and 
I  find  that  "  justification  by  faith  "  seems  to  me  a 
very  different  doctrine  from  the  one  I  was  brought 
up  on.  I  don't  know  that  I  should  understand  it  as 
Luther  did.  But  it  seems  to  me  grander  than  I 
have  dreamed  of  before.  It  is  freedom  to  stand 
with  our  faces  to  the  light,  whatever  our  past  may 
have  been ;  freedom  to  do  right  from  the  love  of  it, 
and  not  as  burdensome  duty;  and  the  love  of  doing 
right  as  the  proof  of  deliverance.  Is  not  this  the 
"  grace  wherein  ye  stand,"  which  Paul  jireached  as 
free  grace  in  Christ  ? 

I  find  very  little  in  the  Book  of  Romans  which 
points  to  Bome  future  salvation.  It  is  the  life  re- 
deemed from  love  of  sin,  which  he  seems  to  be  talk- 
ing to  the  Romans  about.     I  do  wish  religion  were 


182  LUCY  LABCOM. 

made  more  practical  in  theology,  after  this  Paul- 
ine fashion.  I  do  not  care  for  any  commentator's 
judgment.  I  think  that  common  sense  and  a  sin- 
cere desire  for  truth  will  be  shown  the  right  inter- 
pretation. .  .  . 

During  part  of  the  winter  of  1878,  Miss  Larcom 
made  her  only  foreign  trip  —  a  visit  to  Europe  never 
being  possible,  on  account  of  the  expense  —  to  Ber- 
muda, which  she  thoroughly  enjoyed.  She  wrote 
letters  to  the  Boston  "  Daily  Advertiser,"  describing 
the  "Still  vexed  Bermoothes,"  with  enthusiastic 
appreciation.  The  recollection  of  Miranda  and 
Prospero,  with  "  hag-born  "  Caliban,  interested  her 
as  much  as  the  houses  with  walls  of  coral,  or  the 
transparency  of  the  beryl  sea,  through  which  one 
could  see  the  sjaonges,  and  large  purple  amenones, 
and  fish  of  brilliant  hues.  "  A  banana  plantation 
is  rather  a  shabby-looking  affair;  the  leaves  are 
beaten  to  tatters  by  the  island  tempests ;  but  for 
a  contrast  there  is  the  royal  palm,  to  see  which 
for  the  first  time  is  an  era  in  one's  life,  lifting  its 
stately  column  above  the  cocoanut  and  India  rub- 
ber trees.  And  we  are  satisfied  that  roses  smell  no 
less  sweet  for  growing  on  the  border  of  an  onion 
patch.  After  all  this  wonder  of  foreign  growths 
it  is  pleasant  to  see  a  dandelion  in  flower,  and  to 
find  little  mats  of  pimpernel  on  the  hillside  before 
our  hotel.  These  little  home-blossoms  deepen  the 
home  feeling,  and  we  are  no  more  foreigners,  even 
here." 


WRITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  183 

A  poem  full  of  semi-tropical  scenery,  written  on 
this  trip,  appeared  in  "  Harper's  Magazine  :  " — 

"  Under  the  eaves  of  a  southern  sky, 

Where  the  cloucl-roof  bends  to  the  ocean  floor, 
Hid  in  lonely  seas,  the  Bermoothes  lie, 

An  emerald  cluster  that  Neptune  bore 
Away  from  the  covetous  earth-god's  sight, 
And  placed  in  a  setting  of  sapphire  light." 

For  "  pot-boilers,"  Miss  Larcom  undertook  various 
inferior  kinds  of  literary  work,  such  as  compi- 
lations of  poetical  calendars,  and  short  biographi- 
cal notices  of  famous  people.  One  of  her  books  of 
this  class,  "  Landscape  in  American  Poetry,"  with 
beautiful  illustrations  by  Mr.  J.  Appleton  Brown, 
was  published  in  1879.  There  was  some  original 
writing  in  it,  but  in  the  main,  it  was  a  collection 
from  many  sources,  of  poems  dealing  with  interest- 
ing places  in  America. 

TO  MKS.  E.  B.  WHEATON. 

627  Tremont  Street,  Boston, 
January  27,  1879. 

My  deah  Mes.  Wheaton,  —  I  have  been  in- 
tending to  write,  ever  since  I  was  at  Norton,  and 
tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed  being  there,  and  return- 
ing to  the  spirit  of  my  old  days  at  the  Seminary. 

I  was  so  ill  the  last  years  of  my  stay  there,  I 
hardly  knew  how  much  of  a  home  it  was  to  me. 
To  go  back  in  restored  health  was  a  revelation  of 
the  old  joy  in  my  work.  I  think  there  must  be 
something  of  the  same  feeling  in  looking  back  from 


184  LUCY  LARCOM. 

the  better  world  we  hope  for,  when  we  have  passed 
from  this.  We  shall  never  know  how  good  and 
beautiful  a  world  we  have  lived  in  until  we  get 
away  from  it,  and  can  get  a  glimpse  of  it  with  all 
our  weariness  and  cares  laid  aside. 

I  think  a  great  deal  of  the  beautiful  atmosphere 
which  pervades  the  Norton  life  is  due  to  the  gener- 
ous idea  in  which  the  school  was  founded.  It  gives 
the  place  a  home  feeling  rarely  found  in  such 
schools.  Ever  truly  yours, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

TO  MRS.  S.  I.  SPALDING. 

Boston,  December  6,  1879. 
When  I  came  home  from  the  reception  and 
breakfast  given  to  Dr.  Holmes  on  Wednesday,  I 
thought  I  would  sit  down  and  write  you  about  it  at 
once.  .  .  .  The  breakfast  was  a  splendid  success ; 
you  have  probably  read  about  it,  but  there  was  a 
certain  exhilaration  in  being  in  the  presence  of  so 
many  bright  people,  and  feeling  perfectly  at  home, 
which  was  indescribable.  I  never  expected  to  enjoy 
anything  of  the  kind  at  all,  but  I  was  really  taken 
off  my  feet,  in  a  figurative  sense.  Dr.  Holmes 
filled  the  place  of  honor  in  a  delightful  manner. 
It  was  really  like  sitting  down  at  his  own  breakfast 
table.  Mrs.  Whitney  and  I  went  at  twelve  as  in- 
vited. I  left  at  a  little  past  six  and  they  were  not 
through  with  their  letters  and  speeches  then.  I 
was  introduced  to  ever  so  many  people  I  never  saw 
before. 


WRITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  185 

...  I  don't  know  biit  the  pleasantest  thing  to  me 
was  the  opportunity  of  sjDeaking  to  Rev.  Phillips 
Brooks,  or  rather  of  hearing  him  speak  face  to  face. 
To  look  up  into  his  honest,  clear  eyes,  was  like  see- 
ing the  steady  lights  in  a  watch-tower ;  and  a  tower 
of  strength  he  is  among  us.  The  outward  largeness 
of  the  man  is  a  type  of  his  moral  strength  and  men- 
tal breadth  and  spiritual  height,  I  am  more  than 
ever  convinced.  I  never  spoke  to  a  man  who 
seemed  so  thoroughly  grand  to  me. 

Mr.  Whittier  came,  but  remained  a  very  short 
time.  I  saw  him  only  a  moment,  just  before  we 
went  in.  My  escort — they  were  all  coupled  off 
by  a  printed  plan  —  was  Mr.  William  Winter,  a 
New  York  poet  and  journalist.  He  was  very  en- 
tertaining, and  I  think  his  poem  was  the  best  and 
most  effective  of  the  occasion. 

...  I  am  fast  getting  to  be  a  dissipated  woman, 
but  I  must  and  will  put  myself  to  work  steadily  for 
a  week  or  two. 

This  was  the  first  meeting  between  Miss  Larcom 
and  Mr.  Brooks.  She  had  heard  him  preach  at 
Trinity  Church  and  was  greatly  helped  by  his 
sermons,  for  which  she  had  often  thanked  him  by 
letter,  and,  in  return,  had  received  some  few  charac-= 
teristic  lines,  like  the  following :  — 

Boston,  April  14,  1879. 

My  dear  Miss  Larcom,  —  The  preaching  of 
Christ  as  a  personal  friend  and  Saviour  of  all  our 


186  LUCY    LARCOM. 

soiils  becomes  to  me  more  and  more  the  one  inter- 
esting work  of  life,  and  the  readiness  of  the  people 
to  hear  that  one  simple  message,  which,  in  its  end- 
lessly various  forms,  is  always  the  same,  gives  me 
ever  new  satisfaction  and  delight. 

I  have  known  you  by  your  verses  for  years.  I 
hope  some  day  we  may  meet. 

Yours  very  truly, 

Phillips  Brooks. 

The  friendship  between  them  deepened,  as  the 
years  went  on.  They  had  many  serious  conversa- 
tions on  spiritual  subjects,  and  he  became  to  her 
the  great  religious  guide  of  her  life.  His  personal- 
ity, with  its  earnest,  and  even  fiei'ce,  love  for  the 
simplicity  of  truth,  and  the  power  with  which  he 
presented  it,  made  the  deepest  impression  upon 
her  In  her  last  decade,  and  brought  to  the  fruition 
of  spiritual  loveliness  the  remaining  years  of  her 
career. 

Boston,  March  20, 1880. 
My  dear  Miss  Larcom,  —  You  will  allow  me 
to  thank  you  for  your  note  and  to  say  how  truly 
glad  I  am  if  anything  I  said  on  Wednesday  evening 
helped  you  in  your  thought  of  the  Lord's  Supper. 
To  me  the  Personalness  of  the  great  Sacrament 
seems  to  be  the  key  to  all  its  meaning,  and  its  sim- 
plicity is  its  grandeur  and  its  charm. 
Ever  yours  sincerely, 

Phillips  Brooks. 


WBITINGS  AND   LETTERS.  187 


TO  MRS.  S.  I.  SPALDIXG. 

627  Tremont  Street, 
February  12,  1880. 

,  .  .  You  must  be  disheartened  often,  in  having 
to  listen  to  the  vagaries  of  the  many  who  have  or- 
dained themselves  prime  ministers  of  divine  affairs* 
I  really  cannot  feel  it  right  to  put  myself  in  the 
way  of  hearing  such  talk. 

What  can  the  end  be,  since  there  is  common  sense 
among  the  people,  but  a  disgust  for  preaching  alto- 
gether ? 

But  I  believe  in  a  movement  towards  a  service 
in  which  worship  shall  be  the  chief  element ;  and  I 
don't  think  I  am  a  step  nearer  Episcopacy,  either. 
I  am  trying  to  like  that,  because  I  have  always 
been  unjustly  prejudiced  against  it,  but  [  am  a 
born  Independent  at  heart.   .  .  . 

The  years  of  Miss  Larcom's  greatest  poetical 
production  were  brought  to  a  close  by  the  printing, 
in  1880,  of  "  The  Wild  Roses  of  Cape  Ann."  Her 
works  were  bound  together  in  a  Household  Edition, 
in  1884.  After  this,  she  wrote  continually  for  the 
magazines,  and  on  anniversary  occasions  of  various 
kinds.  Some  of  these  verses  were  included,  with  a 
tew  new  ones,  in  the  booklet  "  Easter  Gleams,"  and 
m  the  selection  of  religious  poems,  called  "  At  the 
Beautiful  Gate,"  but  no  noted  additions  were  made 
to  her  poems  after  this,  though  there  are  many 
of  her  lines  of  great  beauty,  scattered  through  the 


188  LUCY    LARCOM. 

pages  of   current  ephemeral   literature,  up  to  the 
time  of  her  death. 


TO  S.  T.  PICKARD. 

Bethel,  Me.,  September  30,  1880. 

My  dear  Mr.  Pickard,  —  I  go  to-morrow  to 
Berlin  Falls,  New  Hampshire,  to  stay  at  the  Cas- 
cade House  until  I  have  finished  reading  my  proof  .^ 
I  wish  to  thank  you  for  your  interest  in  the  book 
about  to  be.  It  will  have  more  character  and  more 
local  color  than  the  other ;  but  I  do  not  write  for 
critics,  but  for  my  friends,  as  the  dedication  will 
show,  and  I  do  not  care  much  whether  critics  like 
it  or  not,  provided  my  friends  do. 

I  can  conceive  of  no  greater  damjier  upon  one's 
poetic  attempts  than  the  cold  water  of  criticism. 
It  is  from  heart  to  heart,  from  friend  to  friend, 
that  I  write  ;  and  I  find  in  that  the  highest  inspira- 
tion to  do  my  best.  Of  course  I  am  glad  to  enlarge 
the  circle  of  my  friends  in  this  way ;  and  poetry 
has  amply  repaid  me  in  the  coin  of  friendship. 
One  gives  out  life  in  writing ;  and  nothing  but  life 
in  return  —  life  enlarged  and  filled  —  gives  any 
true  satisfaction.  Of  course  I  shall  send  you  a 
copy,  not  editorially,  but  personally. 

The  "  Wild  Roses  "  were  fragrant,  and  delighted 
some  of  the  critics,  even,  for  in  addition  to  those 
that  grew  along  Cape  Ann,  there  were  many  culti' 

^  Wild  Bases  of  Cape  Ann. 


WRITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  189 

vated  ones,  that  blossomed  beside  the  still  waters 
of  thought,  and  in  the  quiet  retreats  of  medita- 
tion :  — 

"A  Rose  is  sweet, 
No  matter  -where  it  grows  :  and  roses  grow 
Nursed  by  the  pure  heavens,  and  the  strengthening  earth, 
Wherever  men  will  let  them.     Every  waste 
And  solitary  place  is  glad  for  them. 
Since  the  old  prophets  sang,  so,  until  now." 

"Phebe"  has  a  prominent  place  in  the  book  — 
the  poem  that  drew  from  Mr.  Howells,  when  he 
was  editor  of  the  "  Atlantic,"  a  most  graceful  note  of 
acceptance :  — 

My  dear  Miss  Larcom, — You  take  rejections 
so  sweetly,  that  I  have  scarcely  the  heart  to  accept 
anything  of  yours.  But  I  do  like  "  Phebe,"  and 
I  am  going  to  keep  her. 

"  Shared "  excited  admiration  ;  and  was  pro- 
nounced by  one  competent  critic  to  be  the  best  re- 
ligious lyric  of  the  decade  :  — 

"  The  air  we  breathe,  the  sky,  the  breeze, 
The  light  without  us  and  within, 
Life,  with  its  unlocked  treasuries, 
God's  riches,  are  for  all  to  win." 

The  theological  poem,  "  The  Heart  of  God,"  was 
the  cause  of  controversy,  A  stranger  wrote,  asking 
her  to  change  it,  for  he  thought  it  expressed  too 
clearly  "  the  old  doctrine  of  the  Divinity  of  Christ." 
She  answered  politely,  but  with  a  strong  statement 


190  LUCY    LAIiCOZT. 

of  her  faith,  that  what  he  called  ''  the  old  Doctrine  " 
was  the  inspiration  of  the  verses :  "  To  me,  Christ 
is  the  Infinite  Person,  at  once  human  and  divine. 
God  exists  as  impersonal  Spirit,  but  I  know  Him 
only  as  a  person  through  Christ.  The  historical 
Christ  is  entirely  true  to  me,  as  the  only  way  in 
which  God  could  humanly  be  known  to  us.  It 
is  no  more  impossible  for  me  to  believe  that  the 
"Eternal  Christ  of  God,"  the  personal  manifestation 
of  Deity,  should  veil  Himself  for  a  time  with  the 
human  form,  than  that  we,  in  our  humble  person- 
ality, as  sharers  of  the  Divine  Nature,  should  wear 
it  as  we  do."  The  same  truth  she  put  strongly  in 
"  Our  Christ,"  when  she  wrote  :  — 

"  In  Christ  I  feel  the  Heart  of  God." 

Concerning  this  poem,  the  Rev.  W.  Garrett  Horder, 
the  English  hymnologist,  writes  that  it  has  been 
accorded  a  place  in  "  Hymns  Supplemental "  for 
Congregational  churches,  and  was  sung  for  the 
first  time  in  England,  February  14, 1894,  in  Colby 
Chapel,  Bradford. 

In  making  an  analytical  study  of  Miss  Larcom's 
poetry,  the  range  of  her  verse  becomes  apparent. 
She  finds  expression  for  her  muse  in  almost  all 
forms  of  versification  :  the  epic,  as  in  "  An  Idyl  of 
Work ;  "  the  ballad,  with  its  merry  lines,  relating 
some  story  of  early  New  England  days,  or  some  de- 
lightful old  legend  ;  the  lyric  in  its  numerous  forms, 
—  pastoral  songs  that  breathe  of  the  fields  and 
pretty    farms,    lyrics   of   nature    in    her    peaceful 


WBITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  191 

moods  when  the  wayside  flower  dwells  securely,  or 
in  her  grander  moods  when  the  mountains  hide 
themselves  in  storm-clouds,  or  the  sea  moans  in  the 
deepening-  tempest;  lyrics  of  grief,  when,  in  sol- 
emn and  plaintive  strains,  she  chants  the  dirge  of 
Elizabeth  Whittier,  or  tolls  the  passing  bell  of  Lin- 
coln, or  sheds  a  tear  over  the  grave  of  Garfield ; 
and  sacred  lyrics,  in  which  she  deals  with  the 
deepest  emotions  of  the  human  heart,  expressing 
its  longing  after  immortality,  and  its  adoration  for 
God.  The  range  of  her  verse  is  further  enlarged 
by  the  addition  of  the  sonnet's  "narrow  plot  of 
ground,"  and  the  stately  movement  of  the  ode. 

Her  lines  always  have  a  musical  flow  born  of  in- 
tense emotion.  They  have  a  smoothness  and  ripple, 
like  the  flow  of  the  summer  brook,  or  the  even 
modulations  of  the  tides.  At  times,  they  possess  a 
cadence  not  unlike  what  Mr.  Arnold,  speaking  of 
Spenser,  calls  "fluidity,"  —  an  effect  produced  by 
combinations  of  melodious  sounds,  as  in  these  lines 
from  "  On  the  Beach  :  "  — 

"  And  glimmering  beach,  and  plover's  fliglit, 

And  that  long  surge  that  rolls 
Through  bands  of  green  and  purple  light, 
Are  f  aii-er  to  our  human  sight 

Because  of  human  souls." 

Again,  in  "  Golden-Rod :  "  — 

"  The  swinging  harebell  faintly  toUed 
Upon  the  still  autumnal  air, 
The  golden-rod  bent  doAvn  to  hold 
Her  rows  of  funeral  torches  there."  ■ 


1^2  LUCY  LARCOM. 

And  in  "  My  Mountain  :  "  — 

"  I  shut  my  eyes  in  the  snow-fall, 
And  dream  a  dream  of  the  hills  ; 
The  sweep  of  a  host  of  mountains, 
The  flash  of  a  hundred  rills." 

Together  with  the  music,  there  is  strength  in  her 
verses,  when  she  attempts  to  deal  with  subjects  that 
call  for  vigorous  treatment.  In  the  "Eose  En- 
throned," there  is  a  strong  grasping  at  the  origin  of 
things,  and  powerful  descriptions  of  the  primeval 
birth-throes  that,  from  the  war  of  elements,  issued 
forth  in  the  fairness  of  creation. 

"  Built  by  the  warring  elements  they  rise. 

The  massive  earth-foundations,  tier  on  tier, 
Where  slimy  monsters  with  unhuman  eyes 
Their  hideous  heads  uprear." 

In  her  mountain  descriptions  there  is  the  same 
power.  The  wind-beaten  and  thunder-scarred  sum- 
mit of  Whiteface  presents  itself  to  her  as  the 
visage  of  a  monarch,  who  seems  to  rule  the  race 
of  giant  hills.  The  effect  of  a  mountain  whose 
slopes  jDlunge  into  the  sea  is  graphically  given  in 
the  phrase,  "  Plunged  knee-deep  in  yon  glistening 
sea."  Her  appreciation  for  beautiful  details  of  na- 
ture,  that  seemed  to  escape  the  common  observer,  is 
seen  in  her  similes  and  epithets ;  the  little  streams 
winding  through  the  marshes  are  called  "  sea-fed 
creeks  ; "  the  mists  that  rise  in  the  evening,  reflect- 
ing the  light  of  the  descending  sun,  are  "violet 
mists ; "  the  quiet  of  the  fields  of  clover,  when  one 


WRITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  193 

is  out  of  sound  of  the  waves,  are  fitly  called  "  sweet 
inland  silences  ;  "  the  heart  of  the  woods,  where  are 
the  shadows,  has  its  "  forest  crypts ;  "  and  there  are 
"  mosaics  of  tinted  moss." 

Dr.  Holmes  very  well  describes  her  when  he  says  : 
"  She  was  as  true  a  product  of  our  Essex  Coimty 
soil  as  the  bayherry ;  and  her  nature  had  the  chaste 
and  sweet  fragrance  of  its  fair  and  wholesome 
leaves.  She  was  a  true  poetess,  and  a  noble  wo- 
man." Her  writings  have  the  genuine  flavor  of 
the  soil,  like  the  perfume  of  the  woods,  or  the  salt 
spray  that  bathes  one's  face  along  the  seashore. 
Mr.  Whittier  thus  analyzed  her  powers  as  a  poet : 
"  She  holds  in  rare  combination  the  healthfulness 
of  simple  truth  and  common  sense,  with  the  fine 
and  delicate  fancy,  and  an  artist's  perception  of  all 
beauty."  Mr.  Stedman,  in  his  "Poets  of  Amer- 
ica," speaks  of  her  as  a  sweet-voiced  singer  of 
"  orchard  notes."  This  is  a  good  partial  descrip- 
tion of  certain  of  her  songs,  but  as  an  estimate  of 
her  poetical  ability  it  is  very  limited.  She  was  not 
disturbed  by  the  criticism,  but  wrote  thus  to  a 
friend. 

TO  MRS.  S.  I.  SPALDING. 

4  Hotel  Byron,  Berkeley  Street, 
Boston,  March  8,  1886. 

.  .  .  Don't  be  troubled  about  "orchard-notes." 
I  consider  it  the  highest  compliment. 

Think  of  goldfinches  and  linnets,  soug-sparrows 
and  orioles  !     I  know  and  love  their  separate  songs. 


194  LUCY  LARCOM. 

and  should  feel  proud  if  I  thought  my  singing  de- 
served comparison  with  theirs.  Why,  three  fourths 
of  the  cheer  of  the  spring  and  summer-time  is  in 
those  same  orchard-notes  !  I  shall  have  to  try  hard 
to  live  up  to  my  reputation.  But  if  you  do  think  I 
get  up  a  little  higher  into  the  air,  a  little  farther  off 
into  the  wilderness  sometimes,  for  a  more  meditative 
flight  of  song,  just  remember  that  very  high  critics 
do  not  always  comprehend  the  music  in  the  air  about 
them.  Does  not  Milton  write  of  Shakespeare  as 
"Fancy's  child,"  and  of  his  poetry  as  "wood-notes 
wild"? 

Such  an  estimate  must  be  imperfect,  because  it 
leaves  out  of  consideration  the  moral  power  of  her 
religious  writings,  which,  more  than  her  nature- 
songs,  have  won  for  her  a  place  in  the  regard  of 
the  people.  A  gentleman  thanking  her  for  the 
gift  of  one  of  her  books,  expressed  for  many  read- 
ers a  recognition  of  this  deeper  hold :  "  A  soul 
once  fed  and  inspired  as  was  mine,  at  a  critical  and 
sad  juncture  of  its  life,  by  your  poetry,  is  likely  to 
open,  as  I  did,  the  beautiful  book  your  kindness 
sent  me,  with  strange  delight."  One  who  could 
write  "  A  Thanksgiving,"  with  its  noble  lines,  — 

"  For  thine  own  great  gift  of  Being, 
I  thank  Thee,  0  my  God," 

and  the  words,  — 

"  Lord,  enter  this  house  of  my  being 

And  fill  every  room  with  Thy  light,"  — 


WHITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  195 

should  certainly  be  called  a  religious  poet  of  a  high 

order ;   and  her  poems  are  filled  with  such  passages 

as  that  which  follows,  presenting  religious  thought 

simply  and  convincingly  :  — 

"  God  hears 
The  prayer  the  good  man  means,  the  Soul's  desire, 
Under  whatever  rubbish  of  vain  speech  ; 
And  prayer  is,  must  be,  each  man's  deepest  vrords. 
He  who  denies  its  power,  still  uses  it, 
Whenever  he  names  God,  or  thinks  of  Him." 

Poetry,  to  her,  was  vastly  more  than  word-shap- 
ing, or  combinations  of  accented  and  unaccented 
syllables ;  it  was  an  attitude  of  mind  and  soul 
towards  all  existence,  a  view-point  of  her  being, 
from  which  she  saw  such  visions,  and  heard  such 
sounds,  that  the  impulse  was  irresistible  to  record 
in  recognized  poetic  form  her  ideas  and  feelings. 
She  found  poetry  in  everything  around  her;  it 
was  the  atmosphere  she  breathed,  the  medium,  like 
imponderable  ether,  through  which  she  saw  life. 
Nature  had  a  more  profound  meaning  to  her  than 
the  charm  of  color,  or  the  changing  pleasures  of 
the  land  or  the  sea.  It  was  the  visible  evidence 
of  the  unseen,  the  prophecy  of  a  greater  fulfillment, 
the  proclamation  of  the  spiritual  element  within, 
which  the  senses  of  themselves  could  not  perceive^ 
She  once  said,  "Nature  is  one  vast  metaphor 
through  which  spiritual  truth  may  be  read  : "  — 

"  The  Universe  is  one  great  loving  Thought, 
Written  in  Hieroglyphs  of  bud  and  bloom." 

The  delicate  and  spiritual  nature  of  womanhood, 
too,  with   its   heroism,  breathed   through   all   she 


196  LUCY  LARCOM. 

wrote.  Everything  she  touched  glowed  with  the 
light  of  purity.  Her  aim  was  to  uplift  and  sweeten 
life,  by  a  revelation  of  its  true  meaning.  Her 
measures  are  choice ;  her  passion  Is  genuine ;  her 
verses  sincere ;  and  the  77iorale  of  them  is  always 
elevating. 

Our  literature  is  not  rich  in  women  poets  of  the 
highest  genius,  but  there  are  many  who  have  sung 
true  songs.  Maria  Lowell  was  permitted  to  give 
us  a  few  notes  only  of  her  chaste  singing.  The 
Gary  sisters,  Mrs.  Cook,  Mrs.  Greenough,  and 
Helen  Hunt  Jackson,  and  many  who  now  enliven 
our  magazines,  have  done  genuine  work  ;  but  one 
often  looks  in  vain  for  the  power  that  distinguished 
Miss  Larcom.  Gonsidering  the  range  of  the  vers- 
ification, the  music  of  the  lines,  the  strength  of 
phrase  and  beauty  of  metaphor,  and  lofty  moral 
intensity  of  her  poetry,  it  is  not  claiming  too  much 
to  say  that  it  exhibits  a  genius  as  versatile  and  as 
rich  in  its  utterance  as  that  of  any  of  her  female 
contemporaries,  and  considering  the  impression  that 
she  has  made  upon  the  people,  at  their  firesides  and 
in  their  worship,  she  holds  a  place,  equal  to  any, 
in  their  hearts. 

Her  poems  have  been  recognized  in  many  collec- 
tions in  our  land  and  in  England.  Mr,  Longfellow 
in  his  "  Poems  of  Places "  has  remembered  her. 
She  is  honored  in  Emerson's  "  Parnassus  ;  "  one  of 
her  hymns  is  included  in  Dr.  Martineau's  "  Hymns 
of  the  Spirit ;  "  she  has  been  given  a  place,  by 
Mr.  Garrett  Horder,  in  "  A  Treasury  of   Sacred 


WRITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  197 

Song  from  American  Sonrces ;  "  by  Mr.  Higginson, 
in  "  American  Sonnets  ;  "  by  Mr.  Eichard  Grant 
White,  in  "The  Poetry  of  the  Rebellion;"  and 
by  Mr.  W.  M.  Rossetti,  in  his  "■  English  Selections 
from  Popnlar  Poets." 

The  following  letter  to  Dr.  John  Hunter  of 
Glasgow  shows  that  she  enjoyed  this  recognition 
of  her  work :  — 

Beverly,  Mass.,  July  10,  1890. 

Dear  Sir,  —  A  friend  gave  me  your  "  Hymns  of 
Faith  and  Life,"  in  the  winter,  telling  me  she  had 
found  one  or  two  of  mine  in  it.  On  looking  it  over, 
I  find  five,  not  all  of  which  are  credited  to  me, 
though  all  are  included  in  the  Household  Edition 
of  my  poems,  published  by  Houghton,  Mifflin  & 
Co.  I  thought  you  would  like  to  know  the  author- 
ship, and  therefore  write. 

Of  course  I  am  gratified  to  know  that  my  hymns 
were  taken  on  their  own  merit  apparently,  and  I 
am  glad  if  anything  I  have  written  is  a  natural  ex- 
pression of  sincere  worship  for  other  hearts  and 
voices  than  my  own.  Truly  yours, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

The  two  following  letters  illustrate  how  Dr, 
Holmes  and  Mr.  Longfellow  appreciated  Miss  Lar- 
com's  work. 

296  Beacon  Street,  November  17,  1880. 

My  dear  Miss  Larcom,  —  I  have  been  reading 
your  poems  at  all  the  spare  moments  I  could  find 


198  LUCY    LARCOM. 

this  evening.  Many  of  them  I  read  carefully — • 
every  page  I  tasted.  My  wife  and  daughter  were 
sitting  opposite  to  me,  and  I  had  to  shade  my  eyes 
with  my  hand  that  they  should  not  see  the  tears 
shining  in  them  —  this  over  and  over  again.  The 
poems  are  eminently  wholesome,  sweet,  natural. 
Their  perfume  is  as  characteristic  of  the  soil  they 
spring  from  as  that  of  the  sweet  fern  or  the  bay- 
berry. 

It  is  pleasant  to  me  to  find  my  name  in  such 
good  company  as  it  is  in  your  pages,  and  if  any- 
thing I  have  written  has  ever  given  you  pleasure 
this  volume  has  amply  repaid  me. 
Very  sincerely  yours, 

O.  W.  Holmes. 

P.  S.  (Worth  all  the  rest).  I  got  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Whittier  which  reads  as  follows :  — 

"  Has  thee  seen  Miss  Larcom's  "  Cape  Ann  "  ? 
I  like  it,  and  in  reading  it  I  thought  thee  would 
also.  Get  it  and  see  if  she  has  not  a  right  to  stand 
with  the  rest  of  us.  Wishing  thee  a  pleasant 
Thanksgiving  after  the  manner  of  the  enclosed  card, 
I  am  faithfully  thy  friend,       J.  G.  Whittier." 

Cambridge,  December  24,  1880. 

Dear  Miss  Larcom,  —  I  thank  you  very  much 
for  your  beautiful  volume  of  beautiful  poems.  I 
have  been  reading  it  this  morning  with  great  en- 
joyment. 

I  always  liked  your  poetry,  and  now  like  it  more 


WEITINGS  AND  LETTERS.  199 

than  ever.     It  is  not  merely  verse,  but  possesses 
the  true  poetic  instinct  and  insight. 

One    little  song   among   the  many  particularly 
charms  me.     It  is  "At  her  Bedside."     It  ought  to 
be  set  to  music.     Thanks,  and  all  good  wishes. 
Sincerely  yours, 

Henry  W.  Longfellow. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

RELIGIOUS   CHANGES. 

1881-1884. 

The  true  poetic  temperament  lias  in  it  an  element 
of  religion ;  for  religion  and  poetry  both  deal  with 
the  spiritual  interpretation  of  life,  and  one  who 
possesses  the  temperament  for  either  is  conscious 
of  the  vastness  overshadowing  common  things,  and 
sees  the  infinite  meaning  of  the  apparent  finiteness 
of  the  visible  world.  The  delicate  perception  of 
truth  which  is  a  distinctive  quality  of  the  poet 
often  leads  to  the  deep  appreciation  of  the  spirit  in 
and  through  nature,  and  enables  one  to  feel  and 
know  God. 

Lucy  Larcom  possessed  the  poetic  temperament, 
with  this  strong  element  of  religion.  She  was  pre- 
eminently religious,  in  the  sense  of  possessing  a 
spiritual  power,  dealing  continually  with  spiritual 
things.  She  began  early  to  interpret  life  in  the 
light  of  divine  truth ;  and  truth  made  real  in  hu- 
man character  she  considered  the  one  thing  worth 
striving  for. 

Her  relations  to  organized  Christianity  are  par- 
ticularly interesting.  Doubtless  the  history  of  her 
connection  with  the  churches  is  a  type  of  that  of 


RELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  201 

other  lives  numerous  in  our  generation  that  have 
become  dissatisfied  with  the  communions  in  which 
they  have  been  trained,  and  after  a  period  of  un- 
certainty and  unrest  have  found  a  home  in  the 
Episcopal  Church. 

Her  religious  life  began  in  a  Puritan  home,  and 
in  a  Congregational  meeting-house.  The  strong 
ethical  teaching  of  her  fathers  made  a  lasting  im- 
pression on  her,  and  the  dogmatic  preaching  of 
Calvinism  influenced  her  young  life.  From  both 
she  gained  a  love  for  the  simplicity  of  living  which 
characterized  her  career,  and  that  clearness  of  con- 
science which  she  always  displayed.  There  was 
also  a  joy  to  her  under  the  austerity  of  the  wor- 
ship, and  the  sternness  of  the  theology.  The  ser- 
mons suggested  new  thoughts,  which  forced  them- 
selves between  the  sentences  of  the  minister,  and 
in  this  way  she  preached  to  herself  another  sermon 
than  that  spoken  from  the  pulpit. 

Her  religious  enthusiasm  bore  fruit  at  thirteen 
years  of  age,  in  church  membership,  in  Lowell. 
Not  many  years  after  this  she  was  sorry  for  the 
step  she  had  taken,  for  the  natural  broadening  of 
her  mind  and  the  deejjening  of  her  consciousness  of 
truth  led  her  far  away  from  the  doctrines  she  had 
accepted.  The  sermons  that  she  heard  did  not  seem 
to  satisfy  her  needs ;  she  longed  for  spiritual  nour- 
ishment, for  help  on  the  daily  path,  for  thoughts 
that  had  some  connection  with  actual  temptations 
and  doubts.  Most  of  the  discourses  dealt  in<ren- 
iously  with  exegetical   questions,  or  were  massive 


202  LUCY  LARCOM. 

arguments  used  to  crush  the  objector,  or  efforts  to 
prove  some  metaphysical  doctrine.  Relating  one 
Sunday's  experience,  which  has  been  referred  to 
before  in  her  diary,  she  said,  "  I  went  to  meeting, 
expecting  and  needing  spiritual  food,  and  received 
only  bui'ning  coals  and  ashes.  There  was  a  sermon 
to  prove  that  Satan  will  be  tormented  for  ever  and 
ever ;  and  the  stress  of  the  argument  was  to  prove 
the  endlessness  of  his  punishment." 

Not  only  did  she  find  a  failing  sympathy  with 
the  preaching  and  worship,  but  there  were  doc- 
trines she  could  not  continue  to  hold.  Amons: 
these  doctrines  were,  verbal  inspiration  of  the 
Bible,  which  she  thought  mechanical  and  destruc- 
tive of  the  Spirit's  influence  through  a  distinc- 
tive human  personality ;  the  Atonement,  as  the 
purchase  blood  of  God's  favor  for  a  fallen  race ; 
predestination,  which  seemed  to  eliminate  man's 
freedom  ;  and  endless  'punishment,  adjudged  for 
acts  in  this  life,  without  any  probation  in  a  future 
state,  which  seemed  to  her  contrary  to  the  idea 
of  the  Sonship  of  man.  Neither  did  she  care  for 
the  emphasis  placed  on  doctrine,  as  distinguished 
from  life.  The  centi'al  point  in  her  theology  was 
the  truth  of  God's  love,  and  from  this,  by  logical 
sequence,  came  her  ideas  of  His  revelation  through 
nature,  through  human  life  as  His  gift,  and 
through  character  as  a  manifestation  of  His  glory. 
She  was  a  student  of  Maurice,  who  led  her  along 
congenial  paths  of  thought.  On  Sundays  when  she 
remained  away  from  church,  she  generally  read  a 


RELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  203 

sermon  of  Robertson's ;  and  in  his  powerful  analy- 
ses of  truth,  and  in  his  burning  love  for  the  Mas- 
ter, she  found  continued  inspiration.  Her  love  for 
the  person  of  Jesus  increased  each  year.  She  felt 
herself  a  member  of  the  Invisible  Church,  being 
contented  with  the  thought  that  the  visible  churches 
had  no  claim  upon  her,  because  of  their  errors. 

TO  J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

627  Tkemont  Street, 
Boston,  December  25,  1881. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  Alone  in  my  room  this 
evening,  I  feel  just  like  writing  a  Christmas  letter 
to  you,  and  I  follow  the  impulse. 

This  day  always  brings  back  old  times  and  old 
friends  to  memory,  but  never  with  sadness  to  me, 
because  the  one  idea  of  the  day  is  hope  and  joy  for 
all  souls,  the  possibilities  of  infinite  help,  unending 
progress.  Whenever  I  enter  deeply  into  the  thought 
of  Christ,  whenever  I  feel  Him  the  one  Reality  in- 
separable from  my  own  being,  then  I  feel  that  I 
have  my  friends  safe,  and  that  they  are  to  be  my 
friends  forever.  To  me,  He  is  the  one  Divine 
Friend  in  whom  human  friendships  can  alone  be 
real  and  permanent,  because  He  draws  us  into 
sympathy  with  what  is  best,  with  what  is  eternal, 
the  love  of  goodness,  the  consciousness  of  God  in 
us  and  around  us,  and  the  solemn  gladness  of  a 
human  life  into  which  God  has  entered,  and  where 
He  still  is. 

God  with  us  still,  the  Spiritual  Presence  of  One 


204  LZrCY  LARCOM. 

who  is  more  real  than  any  other  jierson  can  be  to 
us,  through  whom  indeed  we  receive  our  personal- 
ity, —  this  idea,  so  grand  as  at  times  to  seem  almost 
impossible,  grows  more  definite  and  clear  to  me. 
It  is  the  "  So  I  am  with  you  alway  "  of  Christ. 
And  with  this  idea,  that  of  those  whom  we  love 
unseen,  our  friends  who  have  disappeared  from 
sight,  becomes  more  definite  also. 

Sometimes  I  can  say  undoubtingly,  "  I  know  I 
shall  find  them  again,  where  He  is,"  But  though 
the  light  flickers  and  dims  sometimes,  what  if  it 
does  ?  There  the  light  is,  and  every  year  a  larger 
space  is  redeemed  fi*om  darkness. 

Oh,  my  dear  friend !  life  is  a  gift  blessed  as  it  is 
awful.  To  think  how  close  we  are  to  one  another 
for  good  or  evil,  do  what  we  will !  We  cannot  be 
apart  from  our  fellow-beings ;  the  pulses  of  this  life 
we  have  in  common  throb,  upward  or  downward, 
through  us  forever.  Death  is  not  to  me  half  so 
solemn  as  life:  but  then  death  is  no  reality  —  a 
circumstance  of  our  external  life  only.  .  .  . 

TO  THE    SAME. 

627  Tremont  Street, 
Boston,  June  6,  1881. 

...  I  am  steadily  gaining   in  strength  I  think, 

and  I  am  glad  to  keep  on  learning  to  live  and  to 

work,  with    such  limitations  as   years   necessarily 

bring.     I  find  my  life  taking  deeper  hold  of  all 

other  human  lives  ;  I  feel  myself  more  closely  and 

warmly    one    of   the    great    human    family,    every 


EELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  205 

year  of  my  life.  And  I  feel  through  this  the  as- 
surance of  immortality  —  because  we  are  in  our 
deepest  instincts  children  of  the  living  God  —  be- 
cause we,  as  sons  and  daughters,  are  imited  through 
the  Son  with  the  Father ;  we  share  His  eternity ; 
we  cannot  lose  Him  nor  one  another,  nor  the  least 
spark  of  truth  or  love  kindled  within  us  from  His 
being. 

I  am  glad  that  I  live,  and  that  I  shall  die ;  that 
I  shall  fall  asleep  to  awake  with  all  I  love,  with  all 
that  is  permanent  here,  in  Him. 

The  forward  outlook  is  full  of  good  cheer ;  for  is 
not  He  the  Eternally  Good?  .  .  . 

TO  FRANKLIN  CARTER. 

Beverly,  Mass.,  July  18,  1881. 
Dear  Frank,  —  I  want  to  write  a  word  of  con- 
gratulation to  you,  in  your  new  position.     C- 


told  me  you  thought  of  going  to  Williamstown,  but 
I  did  not  know  it  was  fully  decided,  until  I  saw 
your  address  in  a  Boston  paper. 

It  was  an  excellent  inaugural.  I  felt  my  sympa- 
thy go  out  to  you  as  I  read.  I  felt  sure,  and  feel 
sure,  that  you  will  do  good  in  your  new  position, 
which  surely  is  a  most  responsible  one,  in  a  time 
like  this.  I  wonder  if  it  is  really  a  time  of  greater 
unbelief  than  hitherto.  Doubt  is  not  an  unhealthy 
symptom ;  it  argues  the  possibility  of  belief.  In- 
difference to  high  truth  seems  to  me  worst  of  all, 
the  indifference  that  comes  of  too  miich  world, 
which  everybody  seems  to  get  suffocated  in. 


206  LUCY    LARCOM. 

It  is  a  great  privilege  to  be  able  to  influence 
young  men  to  the  best  things,  as  you  will  be  able 
to,  —  to  make  low  aims  seem,  as  they  are,  unworthy 
of  manhood.     God  bless  you  and  help  you ! 

I  have  lived  on,  doing  the  little  I  could,  during 
these  last  few  years.  I  have  gained  in  health,  and 
am  always  hoping  to  return  to  some  steady  work ; 
but  it  may  not  be  best  to  do  so  at  all.  I  like  my 
freedom,  and  if  I  can  afford  to  keep  it,  I  shall.  I 
am  sure  it  is  not  good  for  me  to  live  in  a  school. 
I  sometimes  wish  I  had  earned  or  inherited  money 
enousrh  not  to  have  to  think  of  the  future,  but 
doubtless  the  Lord  knows  just  what  I  need.  It  is 
not  best  for  us  all  to  have  life  made  easy  for  us,  in 
that  way. 

As  I  look  back  on  my  life,  I  see  much  reason 
for  humility.  I  ought  to  have  done  so  much  more 
and  so  much  better.  Nevertheless  the  future  is 
bright,  for  God  is  good.  Sometimes  it  seems  to 
me  as  if  I  were  just  learning  what  His  forgiveness 
means,  what  it  is  to  begin  every  day  anew,  as  if 
there  had  been  no  unworthy  past,  as  if  there  were 
only  His  love  and  my  desire  to  please  Him  left. 
But  I  only  meant  to  write  a  line.  I  go  from  here 
to  spend  the  "  hay-fever  "  season  among  the  moun- 
tains very  soon. 

Always  and  truly  yours, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

The  change  in  Miss  Larcom's  religious  life  came 
when    she    began  to  attend  the  services    of  Trin- 


RELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  207 

ity  Church,  Boston,  in  1879.  The  preaching  of 
Phillips  Brooks  was  the  realization,  in  living 
words,  of  her  own  thought.  He  gave  utterance 
for  her  to  all  her  broader  and  freer  conceptions  of 
Christianity.  She  had  known  little  of  the  Episco- 
pal Church  before  going  to  Trinity,  and  she  had 
the  same  inherited  prejudices  that  many,  bred  like 
her,  have,  though  she  remembered  with  pleasure 
St.  Ann's  in  Lowell,  during  her  days  of  wage  earn- 
ing ;  but  the  simplicity  of  the  worship  at  Trinity, 
and  the  earnestness  of  the  preacher,  touched  the 
deepest  chords  in  her  life,  and  she  realized  that  she 
could  be  helped  by  them.  Writing  to  one  of  her 
friends,  who  urged  upon  her  the  claims  of  the  Epis- 
copal Church,  she  said  :  — 

...  I  have  been  very  much  interested  in  the 
services  at  Trinity  Church.  Just  think !  two 
prayer-books  came  to  me  in  one  week  !  one  from  a 
friend  in  New  York,  from  whom  I  had  not  heard 
for  a  year.  I  do  not  know  what  special  suggestion 
I  am  to  get  from  the  fact,  except  that  I  am  to 
know  more  of  the  Episcopal  Church.  Truly  I  am 
ashamed  of  my  ignorance  regarding  it.  I  enjoy 
the  services,  but  I  think  I  still  strongly  prefer 
Congregational  ways.  If  only  there  were  a  little 
more  sharing  of  the  worship  on  the  part  of  the 
people  !  I  don't  like  to  think  that  the  minister  is 
doing  it  all  up  for  me ;  but  that  is  the  way  of  one, 
and  not  of  the  other,  decidedly.  I  am  going  to  be 
able  to  worship  with  Episcopalians  as  intelligently 
as  with  others.  .  .  . 


208  LUCY  LARCOM. 

At  another  time  she  wrote  about  her  church  con- 
nectlons  as  follows  :  — 

...  I  wish  I  could  feel  as  you  do,  about  the 
Church.  I  should  like  to  be  there,  but  I  have  to 
look  upon  it  from  the  outside  as  an  institution. 
The  real  church,  to  which  I  hope  I  belong,  seems 
to  me  to  be  so  much  broader  than  any  one  form,  so 
inclusive  of  all  denominations,  that  I  hardly  think 
I  have  the  right  to  identify  myself  with  any ;  for, 
by  so  doing,  I  should  exclude  myself  absolutely 
from  the  rest.  Now  I  seem  to  myself  to  belong 
everywhere.  Yet  it  is  sometimes  lonely  to  feel  that 
spiritually  I  have  not  where  to  lay  my  head.  We 
women  crave  home,  a  home  of  our  own ;  but  we 
must  not  deceive  ourselves  by  shutting  our  eyes, 
and  making  believe  we  are  at  home,  when  we  are 
not. 

However,  I  mean  to  go  regularly  to  Trinity  if 
I  can,  for  the  feeling  of  having  free  seats  is  more 
comfortable  than  that  of  intruding  into  people's 
pews,  and  I  go  as  if  I  had  a  right  to  the  ser- 
vice. .  .  . 

Her  diary  for  1881  and  1882  indicates  the  deep- 
ening of  her  religious  thought,  and  the  way  in 
which  the  Episcopal  Church  was  becoming  known 
to  her. 

Boston,  November  28, 1881.  Waked  by  distant 
bells  of  Advent  Sunday.  As  a  Puritan,  I  have 
known  little  of  the  Chi-istian  year,  in  its   Church 


RELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  209 

history.     It  is  worth  while  to  try  to  enter  into  the 

spirit  of  all  methods  of    true    Christian   worship. 

I  read  a  sermon  by  F.  D.  Maurice,  one  by  F.  W. 

Robertson,  and  one  by  Phillips  Brooks,  all  bearing 

upon   the   idea   of    these    Advent  days.       In    the 

"  Christian  Year  "  (Keble),  an  allusion  is  made  to 

one  of  the  skeptical  centuries,  which  seems  to  fit 

this,  in  its  over-scientific  tendencies  :  — 

"  An  age  of  light, 
Light  without  love,  glares  on  the  aching  sight." 

But  under  all  true  science,  —  if  science  is  indeed 
knowledge,  —  we  shall  find  Christ,  since  Christ  is 
the  revelation  of  the  deepest  love  of  God. 

December  4.  Have  been  writing  Christmas 
verses,  by  request,  the  past  week.  Thanksgiving 
and  Christmas  would  blend  themselves  in  my 
thoughts  as  one  festival.  "  For  my  body  liveth 
by  my  soul,  and  my  soul  by  me  "  (St.  Augustine). 
"  Too  little  doth  he  love  Thee,  who  loves  anything 
with  thee,  which  he  loveth  not  for  Thee  "  (/Sic?.). 

December  5.  Two  distinct  thoughts  impressed 
by  the  two  successive  evening  services  at  Trinity 
Church  :  — 

A  week  since,  —  That  the  controversy  between 
skepticism  and  Christianity,  as  carried  on  quite  re- 
cently among  us,  does  not  touch  the  real  point  in 
question,  which  is  whether  Christ,  the  Son  of  God, 
has  come  into  the  world,  and  has  changed  it,  and 
is  changing  it  for  the  better  :  not  whether  certain 
statements  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  can  be  veri- 
fied as  facts,  but  whether  there  is  a  living  Christ. 


210  LUCY  LARCOM. 

And  last  evening,  —  That  the  motive  of  the 
Christian  life,  the  true  reason  why  we  should  be- 
come Christians,  and  live  as  Christians,  is  that 
other  men  may  receive  the  blessing ;  that  it  may 
widen  on,  through  us,  into  unknown  ages.  It  was 
a  carrying  out  of  St.  Paul's  thought,  spoken  to  the 
Ephesians,  about  the  Gentile  world  and  the  "•  ages 
to  come."  It  is  the  grandeur  of  Christianity  that 
it  will  not  permit  us  to  shut  ourselves  up  in  our 
own  personal  or  local  interests,  —  that  it  belongs 
to  the  whole  race,  and  unites  us  to  every  human 
heart. 

A  note  from  Mrs.  Garfield  this  morning. 
Though  so  nearly  a  stranger,  she  lets  me  in,  a 
little  way,  to  the  sacred  seclusion  of  her  sorrow,  — 
"this  valley  and  this  shadow,"  as  she  calls  it. 
She  cannot  see  why  the  blow  had  to  fall  upon 
her,  —  nor  can  we  see  why  the  country  needed 
it.  The  blasphemous  conceit  of  the  assassin,  who 
claims  to  have  been  inspired  by  the  Deity,  makes  it 
all  the  more  perplexing. 

One  good  thing  ought  to  come  of  this  trial, — 
that  we  should  all  of  us  try  to  know  clearly  what 
we  mean,  when  we  claim  close  relations  with  the 
Divine  Being.  Too  many,  perhaps  all  of  us,  some- 
times, use  His  name  insanely,  and  therefore  irrev- 
erently, in  our  thoughts,  and  to  cloak  our  errors  to 
ourselves. 

Begin  this  morning  Max  MiiUer's  "Science  of 
Religion,"  which  I  have  never  yet  thoroughly 
read. 


RELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  211 

January  1,  1882.  Heard  the  midnight  toll  o£ 
the  passing  Old  Year  at  Trinity  Church  last  night. 
It  was  good  to  be  there,  and  to  come  out  into 
the  clear  starlight  and  moonlight  of  the  New 
Year,  with  the  great  company  that  had  reverently 
gathered  in  the  church  to  watch  the  coming  in  of 
1882,  —  another  Year  of   Our   Lord.     Rev.  Mr. 

's  sermon  was  appropriate,  but  that  old,  sad, 

haunting  thought  seemed  to  me  to  be  too  painfully 
impressed,  —  that,  whatever  we  do,  the  scars  of 
our  past  sins  eternally  remain,  —  that  the  losses 
caused  by  our  wrong-doing  can  never  be  made  up. 
Is  it  the  true  reading  of  God's  forgiveness  in 
Christ  ?  Is  not  the  viplifting  power  of  the  new 
love  with  which  His  Spirit  floods  our  life,  some- 
thing nobler  than  we  should  have  known,  except 
for  the  pain,  and  the  wounding,  and  the  loss  that 
came  of  sin  ?  For  the  evil  that  has  come  to  others 
through  us,  may  not  a  flood  of  good  out  of  the 
heart  of  our  loving  Christ  overflow  all,  and  lift 
them,  with  us,  to  a  higher  stratum  of  life  ?  —  I 
must  believe  it  —  that  righteousness  in  human  souls 
will  obliterate  the  past  evil.  If  it  is  to  be  remem- 
bered no  more,  it  must  not  be  there,  —  or  some 
better  thing  must  have  come  in  its  place.  We 
cannot  tell  how  far  God's  love  may  extend,  what 
miracles  it  works.  The  chapter  about  the  New 
Jerusalem  coming  down  from  God  out  of  heaven, 
was  read  as  the  year  was  passing,  and  Mr.  Brooks 
made  that  the  point  of  his  remarks,  —  that  the 
coming   year   might    be   the    New   Jerusalem    to 


212  LUCY  LAECOM. 

US.  In  that  light  all  darkness  may  surely  be  for- 
gotten. 

January  6,  Epiphany.  Went  to  the  Church  ser- 
vice. The  thought  that  Christ  truly  came  to  us, 
to  all  the  world,  through  His  bii-th  at  Bethlehem, 
and  the  joy  of  His  coming,  is  a  blessing  that  every- 
body may  share,  and  that  it  is  more  truly  a  bless- 
ing because  it  is  to  be  shared,  was  chiefly  dwelt 
upon.  It  struck  me  as  a  new  thought,  that  the 
Wise  Men  from  the  East  represented  all  the 
science,  all  the  intellectual  treasure  of  all  time, 
which  are  truly  given  to  humanity  only  when  laid 
at  the  feet  of  Christ.  The  preacher  did  not  ex- 
press that  idea,  but  it  passed  through  my  mind  as 
I  listened.  Every  gift  we  have,  every  work  we  do, 
only  becomes  a  real,  living,  worthy  thing,  when 
given  to  Christ  to  be  inspired  with  His  life.  If 
the  scientific  research  of  this  age  could  but  see  the 
star  hanging  over  the  place  where  the  Young 
Child  lies,  and  find  its  true  illumination  in  Him ! 

January  7.  Miss  H called,  full  of  enthu- 
siasm over  what  she  believes  herself  to  have  done 
by  healing  the  sick,  through  the  power  of  prayer. 
I  must  believe  that  what  she  says  is  true,  —  and 
yet  I  question.  Can  this  be  God's  way?  Not 
impossible  —  but  I  have  never  been  able  to  see 
that  any  prayer  for  definite  physical  results  was  so 
good  as  that  which  asks  to  be  brought  into  harmony 
with  the  will  of  God,  so  that  we  sliall  accept  any 
condition  which  He  sees  best  for  us.  Yet  —  what 
does  the  "  gift  of  healing  "  mean  —  if  not  that  He 


RELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  213 

permits  health  to  flow  through  one  life  into  another  ? 

My  little   crippled    friend,   E ,   does   not  feel 

sure  that  she  ought  to  ask  God  to  make  her  well 
and  strong,  like  other  girls.  I  wish  she  might  be, 
though. 

January  8.  Miss  E.  H.  called.  Our  talk  always 
gets  back  to  the  one  subject,  —  Christ  in  human 
life.  She  cannot  see  that  He  is  more  than  the 
best  of  all  human  helpers,  and  yet  she  has  flashes 
of  higher  truth  sometimes.  I  think  she  wishes  for 
a  definite  intellectual  idea  of  the  Christ,  for  she 
said  to  me,  "  You  make  it  wholly  spiritual,"  — 
and  so  the  conception  of  him,  in  the  human  soul, 
must  be,  it  seems  to  me.  She  said,  "  I  think  of 
what  He  was,"  and  I  think  of  Him,  that  He  is, 
and  there  we  parted. 

It  is  to  me  like  the  simlight :  clear,  penetrating, 
inspiring,  the  idea  of  Christ  who  is,  was,  and  is 
to  be,  the  Eternal  Son  of  the  Father,  the  presence 
of  God  in  humanity,  as  the  friend  of  every  soul, 
—  the  uniting  link  between  the  human  and  the 
divine.  I  feel  my  own  personal  immortality  in 
following  this  truth  whithersoever  it  may  lead,  — 
deeper,  ever  deeper,  into  the  Heart  of  God,  as  I 
earnestly  believe. 

At  church  the  subject  was  the  power  behind  all 
human  efforts,  which  makes  them  worth  anything. 
The  planter  and  the  waterer  are  nothing,  excejjt 
as  means  bringing  the  seed  to  growth,  which  must 
first  be  alive,  a  force  in  itself,  which  he  who  tends 
cannot  produce  or  understand.     The  power  of  God 


214  LUCY  LARCOM. 

■behind  all  worthy  human  efforts,  that  we  are  tools 
in  the  Master's  hand,  and  must  refer  every  good 
result  to  Him,  were  the  inferences. 

Who  can  explain  moods  ?  A  strange  depression 
has  been  over  me  to-day,  as  of  some  impending 
dano'er  to  some  life  near  to  mine.  I  shook  it  off 
in  going  ovit,  but  I  found  myself  imagining  the 
saddest  thing  that  could  possibly  happen  to  me  or 
my  friends,  or  the  country,  or  the  world.  I  do  not 
think  I  dread  any  one  thing  for  myself,  yet  the  re- 
moval of  some  of  my  friends  would  leave  life  very 
lonely. 

January  16.  Yesterday  I  was  much  instructed 
and  helped  by  reading  one  or  two  of  Maurice's 
sermons.  The  thought  that  forgiveness  means  the 
putting  away  of  sins  is  not  often  emj^hasized  as 
he  does  it,  —  "  Power  on  earth  to  forgive  sins ;  " 
that  here  one  can  lay  down  the  burden,  and  go  on 
fighting  the  enemy  with  a  sure  hope  of  conquest, 
because  of  that  divine  life  and  strength  that 
comes  through  a  present  Christ ;  —  this  is  release 
indeed.  Not  that  we  shall  be  forgiven,  but  that 
we  are  forgiven,  if  we  turn  to  the  truth  in  the  love 

of  it. 

And  the  thought  of  the  Communion  service  as 
a  marriage-supper,  a  token  that  our  lives  are  re- 
united to  the  divine  life,  came  to  me  with  new  force. 

Mr.  Brooks  preached  about  heaven,  in  the  after- 
noon ;  that  it  must  be  the  continuance  of  life,  — 
of  the  highest  and  deepest  we  know  here.  There 
always  will   be    for  us,  God,  and  the  "charity" 


RELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  215 

which  means  love.  He  spoke  from  chapter  xiii., 
I.  Corinthians :  "  For  now  we  see  throug-h  a  alass 
darkly,"  —  carrying  out  the  image  of  life  blurred 
and  distorted  often  to  us  here,  made  clear  there, 
where  only  true  things  can  remain.  Keble  says, 
for  yesterday,  that  we  may  — 

"  Through  the  world's  sad  day  of  strife 
Still  chant  his  moming  song." 

And  why  should  not  the  music  of  heaven  be  the 
continuing  of  what  is  the  true  harmony  of  earth  ? 
It  must  be.  The  sermon  yesterday  referred  espe- 
cially to  the  death  of  two  ministers  in  the  Church 
the  past  week.  Dr.  Stone  and  John  Cotton  Smith. 

January  23.  Remarks  at  table,  where  surely 
people  talk  very  freely.  One  lady  says  that  she 
has  never  for  an  hour  been  glad  that  she  was  born. 
I  can  scarcely  think  of  such  a  thing  as  possible,  be- 
cause it  is  God's  world,  and  if  we  have  any  real 
glimpse  of  Plim  we  must  know  that  there  is  a  di- 
vine purpose  in  our  being  here,  even  if  we  do  not 
have  the  "  good  time  "  in  life  that  we  think  we 
deserve.  But  it  may  be  an  inherited  morbid  feel- 
ing, it  may  be  an  affectation,  —  it  may  be  several 
things. 

Another  lady  states  her  Unitarian  position  that 
"  Christ  was  human,  we  know,  —  he  must  also 
have  been  more  than  human,  else  he  could  not  help 
us,  therefore  he  was  divine ;  but  he  could  not 
have  been  wholly  divine,  else  he  could  not  have 
been  an  example  for  us."  The  last  assertion  is  to 
me  mitrue.     He  must  be  able  to  help  us  more,  be- 


216  LUCY  LAECOM. 

cause  He  is  one  with  the  Father,  nor  is  He  less  our 
example,  but  more.  He  never  gave  a  lower  stand- 
ard than  this,  — "  Be  ye  perfect,  even  as  your 
Father  in  heaven  is  perfect."  He  surely  made 
God  our  only  example  of  goodness,  to  learn  and 
to  follow.  And  we  know  that  we  are  made  in  the 
image  of  God,  because  we  cannot  in  our  best  mo- 
ments accept  any  standard  but  this,  —  of  perfection 
to  be  sought  after  through  eternity  ;  the  grandeur 
of  our  being  is  that  there  will  always  be  something 
beyond  for  us  to  seek. 

Keading  "  Ecce  Homo  "  for  the  first  time,  with 
a  view  to  studying  the  "  Life  of  Christ "  with  a 
friend. 

February  6.  Reading  Renan's  "  Life  of  Jesus." 
In  the  introduction,  his  objections  to  the  fourth  Gos- 
pel seem  to  me  to  arise  from  some  lack  of  percep- 
tion in  himself.  I  cannot  find  in  it  the  "  preten- 
tious, heavy,  badly  written  tirades  "  to  which  he 
alludes.  Nor  does  it  seem  to  me  anything  against 
the  book  that  it  was  written  from  memory,  long 
after  the  death  of  Christ.  To  apply  to  so  close 
a  friendship  as  that  between  Jesus  and  John  the 
passage,  "Our  memories  are  transformed  with  all 
the  rest ;  the  idea  of  a  person  whom  we  have  known 
changes  with  us,"  seems  to  me  a  wholly  unsatis- 
factory and  vmappreciative  way  of  putting  it.  If 
friends,  and  such  friends,  do  not  remember  each 
other  as  they  really  are,  we  lose  the  idea  of  per- 
sonal identity  altogether.  Yet  Renan  seems  to 
think  that  John  did  write  the   fourth  Gospel,   and 


RELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  217 

from  the  same  close  kind  of  intimacy  as  that  which 
existed  between  Socrates  and  Plato.  We  surely 
reach  the  heart  of  Christ  most  closely  through  the 
words  of  the  beloved  disciple,  —  the  stories  cluster' 
ing-  around  the  birth  of  Christ,  which  Renan  dis= 
misses  as  "  legendary,"  seem  to  be  so  simply  on  his 
assertion.  Were  they  so,  the  character  of  Jesus, 
Son  of  God  and  Son  of  Man,  remains  itself  divinely 
alone  in  the  world's  history.  But  I  cannot  see 
more  miracle  in  the  beginning  than  all  the  way 
through.  Nor  does  it  seem  to  me  that  it  woiJd 
have  been  more  sacrilegious  for  Him  to  say  "I  am 
God,"  which  he  never  did  in  words  affirm,  Renan 
says,  than  to  say,  as  He  did, "  I  and  my  Father  are 
one ; "  "  He  that  hath  seen  me  hath  seen  the  Fa- 
ther." He  spoke  as  the  Son  of  Man,  referring  also 
always  to  His  Father,  claiming  to  be,  in  the  clos- 
est sense,  the  Son  of  God.  As  a  man.  He  must 
refer  to  the  God  beyond  Him,  else  He  could  not 
have  made  Himself  understood  by  men.  For  my- 
self, I  cannot  think  of  God  at  all,  except  as  hav- 
ing eternally  this  human  side,  by  which  we  hu- 
man beings,  His  children,  may  know  Him.  There 
is  no  unity  in  the  idea  of  Him  without  this  com- 
plexity, which  shows  Plim  as  Father,  Son,  and 
Spirit. 

Yet  Christ's  human  life  was  perfectly  human, 
wholly  so ;  and  the  picturesque  beauty  of  that  life, 
the  lovely  scenery  of  Nazareth,  and  his  wayfaring 
company  of  disciples,  plain  countrymen,  group 
themselves  very  attractively  on  Kenan's  page.     The 


218  LUCY  LABCOM. 

book   fascinates ;   it   seems   always   based  upon  a 
beautiful,  yet  most  inadequate,  conception. 

February  20.  Many  things  to  remember  these 
last  weeks :  Mr.  Whittier's  visit,  and  my  almost 
daily  glimpses  of  him,  and  talks  with  him,  —  a 
friendship  that  grows  more  satisfactory  as  the  years 
deepen  life.  Separateness  of  life  makes  com- 
munion of  thought  almost  truer  and  more  inspir- 
ing than  when  people  live  near  each  other,  and 
frequently  meet.  I  have  more  admiration  and 
reverence  for  such  a  man,  from  having  foiind  a 
higher  standard  in  life  for  myself  from  which  to 
look  across  and  up  to  him.  I  think  everybody  who 
has  largeness  of  character  like  his  needs  perspec- 
tive ;  juxtaposition  is  not  acquaintance. 

April  27.     The  weeks  pass  too  busily  for  record ; 

also  I  have  not  been  well.     Read  with  Miss  H 

Maurice's  "  Gospel  of  the  Kingdom,"  Fairbairn's 
"  Studies  in  the  Life  of  Christ,"  Neander,  "  Life  of 
Christ ;  "  and  came  to  Maurice's  "  Lectures  on  the 
Gospel  of  St.  John,"  which  is  left  for  future  study. 
...  A  clearer  light  has  come,  and  yet  the  sadness 
of  not  living  wholly  in  the  light :  the  bitterness  of 
error  and  failure  ! 

I  will  not  be  morbid ;  I  know  that  there  is 
always  a  better  self  than  myself,  waiting  to  be  set 
free.  But  the  riddles  of  life  are  perplexing.  Who 
are  we  ?     What  are  we  struggling  for  ? 

I  think  Maurice  one  of  the  most  illuminating 
writers  I  ever  knew.  He  looks  into  a  truth,  and 
you  see  what  he  sees,  if  you  see  anything. 


RELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  219 

This  stirring  up  of  theological  questions  at  An- 
dover  is  a  phenomenon  of  the  time ;  a  movement 
towards  a  simpler  holding  of  truth,  and  let  us  trust 
a  greater  honesty  in  us  all  in  our  statements  of 
belief.  Opinions  change,  but  faith  lives  in  the 
heart  of  the  truth,  not  in  its  outward  expression. 
I  wish  some  formulas  could  be  laid  aside,  and  that 
we  could  come  into  a  real  unity  of  faith. 

May  26.  Closing  days  of  a  lovely  visit  at  Mel- 
rose, at  the  house  of  two  of  the  most  delightful 
people,  —  a  true  home. 

The  woods  close  the  house  in  around  my  window, 
and  the  birds  sing  close  by.  A  squirrel  has  fear- 
lessly come  in  to  visit  me  once  or  twice ;  a  flying 
squii-rel,  they  say  it  is.  The  people  I  am  with  show 
me  how  beautiful  it  is  to  live  truth,  justice,  and 
sympathy.  They  belong  to  no  Church,  but  their 
lives  are  most  beautifully  harmonized  with  the 
spirit  of  Him  who  was,  and  is,  the  expression  of 
God's  love  to  man.  When  with  them  I  almost  feel 
as  if  it  were  better  not  to  profess  religion  in 
churches,  —  this  li\ang  testimony  is  so  far  beyond 
what  most  Christians  can  show  ;  but  then  I  remem- 
ber that  it  is  because  God  in  Christ  is  in  the  world, 
because  the  divinity  has  revealed  itseK  in  human- 
ity, that  they  are  what  they  are.  How  else  have 
truth,  honor,  tenderness,  and  unselfishness,  been 
kept  alive  in  the  human  hearts,  but  by  that  revela- 
tion of  the  one  life  as  the  divine  standard  ?  And 
if  the  churches  were  all  forsaken  now,  we  should 
see  a  sad  falling  off  from  among  us  of  such  peojjle 


220  LUCY  LAECOM. 

as  these,  for  most  of  us  need  constant  reminders 
that  we  are  the  children  of  God.  We  need  the 
Word,  the  coming  together,  the  loving,  uniting 
memories  of  Him  who  is  our  life. 

Longfellow  and  Emerson  gone  from  us  before  the 
opening  of  spring  !  It  is  strange  to  think  of  New 
England  without  them.  But  they  are  part  of  its 
life,  forever.  .  .  . 

Though  Miss  Larcom  was  progressing  in  her 
knowledge  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  she  felt  no 
nearer  an  entrance  into  that  body.  She  was  willing 
to  enjoy  the  services  at  Trinity  Church,  but  she  did 
not  want  Mr.  Brooks  to  think,  because  of  her  con- 
stant attendance,  she  had  any  thoughts  of  confir- 
mation. So  in  1884  she  wrote  him  a  letter,  stating 
her  position,  which  he  most  cordially  accepted,  writ- 
ing her  in  reply  what  he  considered  the  advantages 
of  her  attitude. 

233  Clakendon  Street,  Boston,  March  20,  1884. 

My  dear  Miss  Larcom,  —  My  delay  in  answer- 
ing your  letter  does  not  mean  that  I  was  not  deeply 
interested  in  it,  and  very  glad  to  get  it.  It  only 
means  that  I  have  been  too  busy  to  write  calmly 
about  anything,  and  even  now  I  write  mainly  to 
say  how  glad  I  shall  be  if  some  time  or  other  we 
can  quietly  talk  over  what  you  have  written.  For 
the  present,  however,  let  me  only  say,  that  I  accept 
most  cordially  the  position  which  you  describe  for 
yourself.     I  am  content  that  our  Church  should  be 


RELIGIOUS   CHANGES.  221 

a  helpful  friend  to  one  who  has  been  living  among 
quite  different  associations,  and  who  does  not  think 
it  best  to  come  into  closer  personal  connection 
with  her.  If  God  means  that  there  should  ever  be 
a  closer  association  of  life  between  you  and  the 
Episcopal  Church,  He  will  make  it  plain  in  due 
time.  It  is  not  bad,  perhaps,  that  among  the  spe- 
cial connections  with  particular  bodies  of  Christians 
which  come  in  our  lives,  there  should  be  one  period 
in  which,  from  the  very  breaking  of  our  associations 
with  the  bodies  of  Christians,  we  are  able  to  realize 
more  directly  our  relation  to  the  body  of  Christ. 
Perhaps  this  is  such  a  time  for  you.  If  it  is,  and 
whether  it  is  or  not,  may  you  find  more  and  more 
of  His  light  and  help,  and  if  anything  that  I  can 
do,  or  that  Trinity  Church  can  do,  is  ever  a  source 
of  happiness  or  strength  to  you,  I  know  that  you 
will  be  sure  that  I  am  very  glad.  With  kindest 
wishes,  always, 

I  am  yours  most  sincerely, 

Phillips  Brooks. 


CHAPTER  X. 

UNDERCURRENTS. 

1884-1889. 

TO  MISS  S.  H.  WARD. 

January  1,  1884. 

Dear  Susie  Ward,  —  Something  has  just 
brought  you  to  mind ;  I  saw  your  address  in  print 
in  an  almanac,  and  I  felt  like  sending  a  New  Year's 
greeting  to  the  schoolgirl  I  knew  —  mas  it  thirty 
years  ago  ? 

I  am  very  fond  of  those  dear  girls  of  mine,  though 
I  seldom  see  them,  and  would  like  to  send  a  New 
Year's  greeting  to  them  all. 

Ever  your  friend, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

TO    THE    SAME. 

Beverly,  Mass.  ,  January  15,  1884. 

My  dear  Susie,  —  It  is  so  pleasant  to  take  up 
the  threads  of  an  old  friendship  again  !  It  always 
reassures  me  of  the  hereafter  of  souls,  that  even 
here  after  long  intervals,  we  find  ourselves  still  at 
home  with  those  who  had  slipped  away  from  us  ap- 
parently.  They  are  really  still  in  their  place,  and 
we  are  sure  of  them  and  know  where  to  find  them. 


UNDERCURRENTS.  223 

I  have  had  many  changes  since  we  were  much 
together,  but  life  is  the  same  good  gift  of  the  Lord 
I  always  knew  it  to  be,  only  more  wonderful  as  one 
gets  deeper  into  it. 

Always  yours, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

TO  J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

WoLFviLLE,  Nova  Scotia, 
August  21,  1884. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  I  am  moved  to  write  to 
you  from  here,  where  I  sit  looking  out  upon  the 
Basin  of  Minas,  and  Grand  Pre  itself,  the  mud  of 
which  latter  I  have  been  trying  to  remove  from  my 
dress,  though  J  suppose  I  ought  to  let  it  stay  spat- 
tered with  poetic  associations ! 

Yesterday  we  were  taken  to  drive  through  the 
Valley  of  the  Gaspereau,  a  lovely  region,  under 
perfect  cultivation,  —  and  so  on,  over  the  old  dikes 
of  Grand  Pre,  where  we  stood  upon  the  site  of 
the  old  church,  and  saw  the  cellar  of  what  was  sup- 
posed to  be  the  priest's  house,  close  by  the  church. 

The  people  here  think  they  know  where  Evan- 
geline's father  lived,  and  just  where  Basil  the 
blacksmith  had  his  forge,  —  so  mixed  are  our  illu- 
sions with  our  historic  certainties !  I  find  myself 
believing  in  Evangeline  as  a  real  maiden,  one  who 
once  lived  and  suffered  on  this  very  soil,  and  I 
gathered  a  daisy  and  a  wild  rose  for  you,  which 
her  hand  might  have  plucked,  instead  of  mine,  as 
a  memorial  of  her  lost  home. 


224  LUCY  LARCOM. 

Miss  J and  I  are  stopping  at  the  village  doc- 
tor's. Mrs.  Fitch,  who  keeps  his  house,  takes  a  very 
few  boarders.  His  orchard  is  loaded  with  apples 
and  pears,  and  his  garden  opens  out  on  tlie  meadow 
close  upon  the  first  dike  built  by  the  French  Aca- 
dians.  We  are  finding  the  hottest  weather  of  the 
season,  and  are  glad  not  to  be  in  any  city  just  now. 

We  had  a  pleasant  sail  to  Halifax  —  the  sea  as 
smooth  as  glass,  and  so  no  excuse  for  sickness.  I 
had  friends  in  Halifax,  who  took  us  to  the  citadel 
and  the  park,  the  latter  the  finest  I  ever  saw,  be- 
cause left  chiefly  to  nature  :  just  woods  of  j^ine  and 
spruce,  overlooking  the  harbor,  which  I  can  well 
believe  to  be  what  the  Nova  Scotians  claim  for  it 

—  the  most  beautiful  harbor  in  the  world. 

We  go  the  last  of  the  week  to  Annapolis  and 
Digby,  and  home  by  the  way  of  Mt.  Desert,  which 
I  have  never  visited. 

I  go  from  there  to  Bethel,  to  spend  September, 

—  read  my  proof  —  and  escape  hay-fever  —  (as  I 
hope !). 

You  are  often  spoken  of  here,  and  by  those  who 
wish  you  would  visit  the  place.  The  journey  is  a 
long  one,  and  I  suppose,  as  I  tell  them,  that  you 
would  not  feel  like  taking  it.  But  there  is  a  charm 
about  the  people  and  the  region  which  can  only 
be  felt  by  being  here,  —  everybody  seems  very  in- 
telligent, and  very  hospitable,  —  no  extreme  poverty 
anywhere,  that  I  can  see. 

Thine  always, 

Lucy  Larcom. 


UNDERCURRENTS.  225 

TO    PHILLIPS    BROOKS. 

12  Concord  Square,  March  26,  1885. 

Dear  Mr,  Brooks,  —  I  called  at  the  chapel 
yesterday  afternoon,  but  others  were  waiting  to 
see  you,  and  it  was  getting  late  in  the  day,  so  I  did 
not  stay.  I  had,  indeed,  no  good  excuse  for  taking 
your  time  ;  but  it  would  have  been  a  great  pleasure 
to  speak  to  you,  after  my  winter's  imprisonment 
with  illness. 

It  is  only  within  a  week  or  two  that  I  have  come 
to  Boston,  or  been  out  to  church  at  all.  I  have 
enjoyed,  almost  to  pain,  the  few  services  I  have 
attended,  for  I  am  not  sure  that  I  hold  myself  in 
the  right  manner  towards  God's  people,  with  whom 
I  so  fully  sympathize  in  spirit.  I  wonder  if  I  really 
am  in  the  Church  !  My  childish  consecration  was 
sincere ;  I  entered  the  communion  of  the  sect  in 
which  I  was  baptized  and  brought  up,  from  an 
earnest  longing  to  come  nearer  to  Christ,  —  a 
desire  which  has  grown  with  me  through  all  the 
years ;  only  now  it  reaches  out  beyond  all  names 
and  groupings,  towards  the  whole  Communion  of 
Saints  in  Him.  Nothing  less  than  this  is  the  real 
Church  to  me.  Some  narrowness  I  find  in  every 
denomination,  and  this  distresses  and  repels  me,  so 
that  I  cannot  tell  where  I  belong.  Yet  when  I  go 
to  Trinity  Church,  I  feel  myself  taken  possession 
of,  borne  upward  on  the  tide  of  loving  loyalty  to 
Christ ;  and  1  know  that  it  has  not  been  well  for 
me  to  live  apart  from  my  kindred. 


226  LUCY  LARCOM. 

I  wish  I  could  find  myself  among  tlie  group  who 
consecrate  themselves  to-night :  but,  as  you  once 
said  to  me,  if  that  were  the  way  for  me,  it  would  be 
made  plain.  And  I  shall  consider  Trinity  as  home, 
whenever  I  am  in  Boston. 

I  did  have  one  little  request  to  make,  —  it  was 
liberty  to  use  some  paragraphs  from  your  printed 
sermons  in  a  compilation  which  I  may  prepare 
this  year.  I  shall  take  it  that  I  have  permission, 
Unless  forbidden. 

Faithfully  yours, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

TO  

December  3,  1885. 
I  heard  Canon  Farrar  preach  and  lecture.  He 
is  not  remarkable,  it  seems  to  me,  except  for  his 
moral  and  spiritual  earnestness,  but  that  is  remark- 
able, as  men  go.  I  liked  his  lecture,  for  it  will 
help  to  foster  a  good  feeling  between  us  two  brother 
nations  of  the  English  race.  England  and  America 
ought  to  feel  themselves  one.  .  .  . 

When  the  summer  came.  Miss  Larcom  always 
looked  forward  with  pleasure  to  her  mountain- 
homes,  of  which  she  had  a  number,  in  New  Hamp- 
shire and  Maine.  The  hills  gave  her  rest ;  and  the 
beauty  of  the  views,  with  the  grand  distances,  sug- 
gesting freedom  and  the  thought  of  being  above 
the  common  level,  gave  her  inspiration  for  her  work. 
Each  year  she  tried  to  visit  the  vainous  points  she 


UNDERCUREENTS.  227 

loved  —  Ossipee  Park,  The  Notch,  Bethlehem, 
Moosilauke,  Bethel,  Centre  Harbor,  and  Berlin 
Falls.  Bethel  fascinated  her  with  its  sight  of  the 
Androscoggin  and  its  majestic  elms,  and  the  view 
of  Mt.  Moriah  and  some  of  the  Presidential  Range, 
—  Madison,  Adams,  and  Washington.  At  Mr. 
tlohn  Russell's  Riverside  Cottage  she  was  always 
welcome ;  and  back  of  the  house,  on  the  crest  of 
the  mountain,  was  a  little  glen,  shaded  by  ever- 
greens, in  which  she  used  to  sit  and  read,  called 
"  Miss  Larcom's  Retreat."  Sitting  on  the  low 
bench,  in  this  nook,  she  wrote  the  poem  "On  the 
Ledge  :  "  — 

"  Here  is  shelter  and  outlook,  deep  rest  and  ■wide  room ; 
The  j)ine  woods  behind,  breathing'  balm  out  of  gloom ; 
Before,  the  great  hills  over  vast  levels  lean,  — 
A  glory  of  purple,  a  splendor  of  green. 
As  a  new  earth  and  heaven,  ye  are  mine  once  again. 
Ye  beautiful  meadows  and  mountains  of  Maine." 

She  always  enjoyed  Ossipee  Park,  with  its  won- 
derful brook,  "  set  in  the  freshness  of  perfect 
green,"  and  watched  it  widen  into  pools  and  leap 
into  cascades.  She  wrote  of  it,  "  Ah  !  this  is  the 
sort  of  retreat  for  friends  who  like  to  meet  or  sepa- 
rate within  the  sound  of  a  voice  which  surely  wins 
them  together  again  side  by  side." 

Bethlehem,  besides  giving  her  freedom  from  hay- 
fever,  was  always  "  the  beautiful."  Moosilauke 
was  her  favorite  summit.  From  these  places  she 
generally  wrote  charming  letters  to  the  Portland 
"  Transcript,"  which  its  readers  will  remember,  and 


228  LUCY  LARCOM. 

othei's  may  judge  of  by  the  following  from  Wood- 
Giant's  Hill,  Centre  Harbor. 

"  There  is  a  peculiar  charm  in  New  Hampshire 
hill  scenery  just  at  this  season,  before  the  roses 
have  faded,  or  the  hay  is  mown,  or  the  bobolinks 
have  ceased  singing  among  the  clover  blossoms,  and 
while  the  midsummer-tide  is  rolling  up  over  all, 
and  blending  all  in  haze  and  heat,  —  a  mingling  of 
freshness  and  ripeness  that  is  indescribably  lovely. 
One  should  surely  be  among  the  hills  before  the 
Fourth  of  July,  to  catch  the  best  of  their  beauty,  as 
well  as  to  escape  the  dust  and  distractions  of  the 
patriotic  anniversary. 

"  To  sit  at  a  western  window  and  look  off  upon 
the  Beulah-like  landscape,  slope  upon  slope  of  roll- 
ing, forest-crowned  hills  ascending  towards  bluer 
heights  which  lose  themselves  among  dim  lines  of 
half  -  revealed  higher  horizons- — -to  feel  the  air 
sweeping  across  from  the  softly-blended  infinite 
spaces,  over  pine  woods  and  fields  in  full  flower  — 
to  breathe  it  all  in  like  the  odor  of  some  divine 
nectar  —  is  there  anything  like  it  in  the  whole 
year,  except  at  the  meeting  point  of  June  and  July, 
and  in  such  a  region  as  this.  For  we  know  that 
there  are  lakes  all  around  us,  sleeping  unseen  in  the 
midsummer  haze,  and  we  know  that  the  invisible 
mountains  lie  just  beyond  those  lovely  ascending 
distances  before  us. 

"  And  so,  when  a  sweeter  waft  of  coolness  re- 
freshes every  sense,  and  we  ask  with  wonder  what 
makes  it  so  sweet,  the  answer  seems  borne  onward 
with  its  very  breath  :  — 


UNDERCURRENTS.  229 

"  '  The  gale  informs  us,  laden  -with  the  scent.' 

"  It  brings  us  the  spice  of  pine  woods  and  the 
clear  drip  of  ice-cold  waterfalls  ;  the  breath  of  pond 
lilies  and  sweet-brier  and  unmown  scented  grasses, 
clover  -  tops  and  mountain  -  tops,  blended  in  one 
draught ;  and  that  delicate  bubble  of  song  which 
rises  from  the  meadows,  the  faint  farewell  chorus 
of  summer  birds  that  seem  loth  to  go,  makes  the 
full  cup  overflow  with  musical  foam. 

"  I  saw  the  sun  drop  last  evening  —  its  magnified 
reflection,  rather  —  into  the  larger  Lake  Asquam, 
like  a  ball  of  crimson  flame.  The  sun  itself  went 
down,  hot  and  red,  into  a  band  of  warm  mist  that 
huno-  over  the  hills.  The  '  Wood  Giant '  stood 
above  me  audibly  musing.  His  twilight  thoughts 
were  untranslatable,  but  perhaps  the  wood-thrushes 
understood,  for  they  sent  up  their  mystical  chant 
from  the  thickets  below,  in  deep  harmony  with  the 
music  of  his  boughs. 

"  The  hiiiher  summits  have  not  unveiled  them- 
selves  yet,  not  even  Cardigan  or  Mount  Israel. 
Steamins:  across  the  lake  from  Wolfboro'  three 
sunsets  since,  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  a 
compensation  in  this  invisibility  of  the  loftier  hills. 
Only  Red  Hill  and  the  Ossipee  Range  were  to  be 
seen  ;  and  they  loomed  up  in  huge  grandeur,  as- 
serting themselves  to  be,  as  they  are,  the  dominant 
guardians  of  Winnipiseogee.  It  is  seldom  that 
the  Beautiful  Lake  loses  them  from  sight." 


230  LUCY  LAltCOM. 

TO    MRS.    S.    I.    SPALDING. 
Ckntue  IIakhou,  N.  H.,  October  7,  1885. 

...  I  have  had  my  "  outing "  at  Bethlehem ;  I 
went  there  hardly  able  to  sit  up  dnrini^  the  journey, 
but  gained  strength  at  onee,  and  am  well  now. 

I  stayed  there  more  than  four  weeks,  and  enjoyed 
it  much.  Mr.  Howells  and  family  were  at  the  next 
house,  and  I  saw  them  several  times.  ]5cthleliem 
is  a  very  |)ublie  i)laee.  I  found  a  good  deal  of 
calling  and  visiting  going  on.  But  the  house  life 
was  delightful. 

I  s})ent  last  week  at  Ossipee  Park,  the  loveliest 
spot  in  New  England,  I  think. 

I  am  here  for  a  week  or  more,  at  the  place  where 
Mr.  Whittier  was  in  the  summer.  Mrs.  Sturte- 
vant  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  her  house- 
keeping leaves  nothing  to  be  desired.  You  would 
like  the  place  and  it  is  easily  accessible, — only  a 
mile  back  of  Centre  Harbor.  Mr.  AVhittier's 
poem,  "  The  Wood  Giant,"  was  written  here.  You 
can  see  the  tree  above  others,  ten  miles  across  the 
lake,  at  Ossipee  Park  —  it  is  down  in  the  pasture, 
a  little  way  from  this  house,  looking  towards  sunset 
over  the  lake.  .  .  . 

TO   J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

IIoTKL  Byron, 
Boston,  April  2;],  1886. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  I  have  been  in  and  about 
Boston  for  the  past  three  weeks,  and  of  late  have 


UNDEIWUItliENTS.  231 

been  interested  in  this  new  study  of  Tlieosopliy, 
which  so  many  are  looking  into.  I  liave  wondered 
how  you  regard  it. 

What  I  most  enjoy  about  it  is  the  larger  hori- 
zons it  opens  upon  our  true  spiritual  sight,  — 
glimpses  only,  it  is  true,  —  but  we  could  not  bear 
more  than  that,  doubtless.  And  the  moral  and 
spiritual  truth  it  unfolds  and  inculcates  is  of  the 
loftiest.  It  harmonizes  so  entirely  with  tlie  high- 
est Christianity,  no  believer  in  that  can  find  cause 
for  cavil.  And  yet,  it  is  far  behind  the  spirit  of 
Christianity,  as  we  have  it  from  the  Divine  Teach- 
er's lijis  and  life ;  in  that  the  common  mind  is  shut 
out  from  a  clear  com2)rehensiou  of  its  meaning. 
"  The  simplicity  that  is  in  Christ "  is  the  true  gos- 
pel, whatever  wisdom  beside  this  may  be  given  to 
sages  and  seekers.  The  gospel  for  the  poor  and 
the  ignorant  is  the  gospel  for  us  all. 

And  I  suppose  those  that  go  farthest  into  these 
other  deep  secrets  are  the  humldest.  Spiritual 
pride  is  indeed  pronounced  the  greatest  of  all  sins 
by  these,  and  l)y  Christian  souls. 

But  how  beautiful  it  is  to  know  that  truth  is 
one,  and  that  life  is  one,  and  that  all  over  the 
world,  and  through  all  the  ages,  men  are  entering 
into  and  sharing  the  great  inheritance! 

I  may  find  much  that  I  cannot  accept,  l)ut  wliat 
of  that,  if  I  am  brought  nearer  to  the  heart  of 
humanity,  in  its  fraternal  aspirations  towards  the 
Father  of  our  spirits ! 

Faithfully  thy  friend,         LucY  Larcom. 


232  LUCY  LARCOM. 

233  Clarendon  Street, 
Boston,  December  28,  1886. 

Dear  Miss  Larcom,  —  I  cannot  let  your  kind 
note  pass  without  at  least  a  word  of  gratitude  and 
welcome.  It  is  good  to  know  that  vou  are  in  Bos- 
ton  again,  and  that  I  may  sometimes  speak  to  you 
on  Sundays.  I  should  be  sorry  indeed  to  think 
that  the  winter  would  pass  without  letting  me,  some- 
where, sometime,  come  to  more  familiar  friendly 
talk  with  you.  You  will  find  me  the  chance,  I 
hope,  either  by  coming  here,  or  letting  me  know 
where  I  may  come  to  you. 

At  any  rate,  I  am  glad  that  you  are  here,  and  I 
send  you  my  best  New  Year's  wishes. 

I  do  not  want  you  to  think  that  I  am  aspiring  to 
poetry.  "The  Little  Town  of  Bethlehem"  was 
written  more  than  twenty  years  ago,  for  a  Christ- 
mas service  of  my  Sunday  school  in  Philadelphia. 
It  has  been  printed  in  hymn-books  since,  and  sung 
at  a  good  many  Christmases,  and  where  the  news- 
papers find  it,  all  of  a  sudden,  I  do  not  know ! 
Ever  faithfully  your  friend, 

Phillips  Brooks. 

It  has  been  stated  that  Miss  Larcom  was  barely 
able  to  supj)ort  herself  by  her  writings.  She  real- 
ized, like  many  another  author,  that  Mr.  Whittier's 
words  were  true  when  he  wrote  her  that  "  the 
hardest  way  of  earning  bread  and  butter  in  this 
world  is  to  coin  one's  brains,  as  an  author,  into 
cash,  or  spin  them  into  greenbacks."     She  could, 


VNDEECUBBENTS.  233 

however,  do  very  well,  so  long  as  her  health  was 
good.  In  addition  to  the  copyright  on  her  books, 
she  received  payment  from  the  magazines  for  her 
work,  —  "St.  Nicholas"  sometimes  gave  her  fifty 
dollars  for  an  article.  "  Harper's  "  and  the  "  In- 
dependent "  paid  her  the  same  rates  as  they  did  to 
"  H.  H."  She  also  contributed  to  "  Wide  Awake," 
the  "Christian  Union,"  the  "  Congregationalist," 
and  to  many  minor  papers,  like  the  "  Cottage 
Hearth."  But  she  was  subject  to  severe  attacks  of 
illness,  which  rendered  her,  for  the  time,  incapable 
of  writing.  Then  it  was  that  her  friends  came  for- 
ward to  aid  her ;  any  assistance,  however,  she  was 
loth  to  accept.  This  unwillingness  to  receive  help 
gave  rise  to  an  interesting  scene  between  herself 
and  Mr.  Whittier.  At  one  time,  her  strength  and 
resources  had  been  reduced  by  illness.  She  was 
lying  upon  her  couch  when  Mr.  Whittier  came, 
and,  seating  himself  beside  her,  said,  "  Now,  Lucy, 
this  is  altogether  too  bad." 

"  AYhat  is  too  bad  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  thee  should  work  for  the  world  all 
thy  days,  and  then  lie  here,  worrying  about  ex- 
penses." 

"  I  don't  worry.  The  Lord  has  always  taken 
care  of  me." 

"  But,  Lucy,  thee  ought  to  worry.  The  Lord 
has  made  thee  capable  of  caring  for  thyself.  Why 
not  be  more  practicable  ?  I  have  done  something 
about  this." 

"  I  knew  you  had,  as  soon  as  this  talk  began. 


234  LUCY  LARCOM. 

Now,  I  thank  you,  but  I  will  not  touch  one  cent  of 
the  money  you  collect." 

"Don't  be  foolish.  Thee  will;  and  thee  must 
not  waste  thy  remaining  strength  in  rebellion." 

A  compromise  was  made  by  her  taking  a  pen- 
sion of  a  hundred  dollars  a  year,  from  a  Quaker 
Home,  in  Philadelphia,  and  a  few  annual  subscrip- 
tions —  one  from  Mr.  George  W.  Childs. 

TO    J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

Hotel  Byron,  Berkeley  St., 
Boston,  Mass.,  February  4,   1887. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  I  have  been  away  two 
days,  and  on  returning,  find  thy  note  and  the  en- 
closed check  for  one  hundred  dollars.  A  greater 
surprise  could  not  have  awaited  me. 

And,  curiously  enough,  I  had  been  amusing 
myself  just  before,  with  the  thought  of  the  great 
fortunes  rolling  about  the  world,  without  ever  so 
much  as  touching  me  !  And  I  had  said  to  myself 
that  the  Great  Disposer  of  all  these  things,  who  is 
also  my  Father,  doubtless  had  a  purjjose  in  it,  — 
perhaps  that  I  was  to  prove  to  the  very  end  that 
life  could  be  very  cheerful  and  comfortable  without 
much  money,  and  with  unremitting  effort  to  earn 
a  moderate  living,  so  long  as  my  strength  should 
hold  out. 

And  I  felt  like  acquiescing  gratefully,  happy  in 
my  restored  health,  in  my  interest  in  my  work,  and 
in  doing  and  being  all  that  it  is  in  me  to  do  and  to 
be  for  others,  —  for  life  does  look  every  day  larger 


UNDERCURBENTS.  235 

and  deeper  and  more  beautiful  in  its  possibilities, 
even  this  one  small  life  of  mine,  in  this  world  of 
God's.  I  think  I  was  rather  in  danger  of  looking 
down  on  the  millionaires,  and  pitying  them  for 
their  heavier  burdens  of  responsibility, 

I  always  feel  rich  when  I  feel  well,  and  I  was 
not  conscious  of  a  present  want,  although  I  knew 
my  purse  was  getting  light,  and  I  was  not  sure 
whether  I  could  afford  to  stay  in  Boston  through 
the  winter,  but  now  I  see  that  I  can,  for  I  shall 
take  your  advice,  and  keep  the  check. 

I  suppose  I  should  never  have  consented  to  have 
my  name  used,  as  one  who  needed  assistance,  but 
I  have  great  confidence  in  your  wisdom,  and  if  you 
thought  it  right,  I  could  not  object.  But  you  know 
that  I  have  never  suffered  from  want,  and  that  I 
am  able  to  work,  although  three-score. 

The  only  wish  I  have  ever  had  in  connection 
with  money,  is  for  the  freedom  it  might  give  me  to 
choose  my  work,  and  the  place  where  I  should  live. 
When  I  can  do  that,  I  don't  know  that  I  shall 
have  any  further  desire,  for  myself.  And  if  I 
really  need  that,  God  will  give  it  to  me. 

If  Mr.  Childs  has  really  sent  the  money  to  me, 
I  must  thank  him  for  it,  and  I  will  do  so,  if  you 
will  kindly  send  me  his  address.  You  see  how 
ignorant  I  am  about  our  good  rich  people,  when 
I  don't  know  whether  to  address  him  as  "•  Mr." 
or  "  Esq."  or  write  with  Quaker  plainness  !  You 
said,  "Philadelphia."  Is  that  enough,  without 
street  or  number  ? 


236  LUCY    LARCOM. 

I  thank  thee  sincerely  for  all  the  kind  thoughts 
that  this  matter  implies  on  thy  part.  And  I  feel 
more  and  more  assured  that  the  silver  and  the 
gold  belong-  to  God,  and  that  He  spends  it  where 
He  will.  If  He  puts  it  into  Mr.  Childs'  hand  for 
me,  I  will  not  refuse  it  —  not  from  any  good  man's 
hand.  Only  please  remember  that  thee  must  not 
let  people  think  I  am  poor,  when  I  am  not.  Shall 
we  not  see  thee  before  long? 

Gratefully  yours, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

One  of  Miss  Larcom's  greatest  pleasures  was  the 
visits  she  was  able  to  make  to  her  congenial  friends. 
Not  being  tied  by  family  cares,  it  was  possible  for 
her  to  accept  some  of  the  many  invitations  she 
constantly  received  from  those  who  loved  her. 
Her  presence  in  a  household  was  like  a  peaceful 
influence,  for  she  had  the  delightful  gift  of  being 
an  agreeable  guest.  Always  sympathetic,  never  in- 
truding into  the  privacy  of  family  matters,  reticent 
about  her  ti'oubles,  and  eager  to  impart  her  joys, 
with  a  fund  of  humor  always  at  hand,  she  made 
a  charming  companion ;  and  her  visit  was  always 
remembered  as  an  event  in  the  year.  There  are 
many  homes  that  have  had  the  privilege  of  enter- 
taining her,  and  receiving  something  f i-om  the  close 
contact  with  her  personality.  One  of  her  hostesses, 
Mrs.  James  Guild,  of  Roxbury,  in  whose  house  she 
used  to  enjoy  hours  of  Plato  study,  and  where  the 
last  few  years  of  her  life  she  found  rest,  says,  "  In 


UNDERCURRENTS.  237 

passing  the  library,  I  often  looked  through  the  por- 
tieres, to  behold  the  presence  in  the  room,  —  the 
white,  peaceful  face,  that  seemed  to  wear  a  halo. 
She  would  have  three  or  four  books  at  once  on 
her  knee,  and  look  up  smiling  to  ask,  '  Am  I  not 
greedy?  I  don't  know  which  of  these  to  read 
first !  I  do  love  books,  but  not  better  than  friends ; 
when  you  are  at  leisure,  I  am  ready  to  sit  with 
you.' " 

TO   MRS.  S.  I.  SPALDING. 

WiLLiAMSTOWN,  Mass.,  October  10,  1887. 

...  I  came  here,  through  Lake  George  and 
Saratoga,  last  Friday.  I  am  visiting  at  President 
Carter's,  my  old  friend,  who  has  a  charming  fam- 
ily and  home.  The  town  itself  is  most  beautiful, 
and  I  have  been  driving  about  among  the  Berk- 
shire Hills,  finding  them  no  less  enjoyable  for 
what  I  have  seen  of  the  Adirondacks. 

President  Carter  is  at  present  away  on  business. 
A  case  of  possible  hazing  is  one  of  the  most  trying 
—  the  facts  are  so  hard  to  get  at.  The  spirit  of  this 
college  is  entirely  opposed  to  such  things.  He  is 
also  a  corporate  member  of  the  American  Board. 
I  do  not  sympathize  with  the  turn  affairs  have 
taken.  It  looks  to  me  like  a  long  step  backward. 
It  cannot  be  that  a  disputed  theological  point  is  to 
settle  the  world's  salvation.  And  the  inquisitorial 
spirit  tends  so  entirely  to  bitterness  and  harsh  judg- 
ment ;  it  proves  itself  foreign  to  the  spirit  of  Christ. 

May  God  reveal  himself  to  these  benighted 
theologians  ! 


238  LUCY    LARCOM. 

TO    J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

Beverly,  Mass.,  April  24, 1888. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  Yesterday  I  returned  to 
Beverly,  having  done  something  quite  luicommon, 
for  me,  —  taken  a  trip  to  the  Jerseys.  I  went 
on  urgent  invitation  from  old  pupils  and  school- 
friends  at  Wheaton  Seminar}^,  who  gave  a  break- 
fast at  Hotel  Brunswick,  New  York. 

I  met  a  good  many  people  I  was  glad  to  see,  and 
made  most  of  my  visit  at  Mr.  Ward's,  of  the  "  In- 
dependent." His  sister,  who  keeps  house  for  him, 
at  Newark,  is  a  former  pupil  of  mine. 

Then  I  had  an  invitation  from  a  schoolmate  at 
Monticello,  Illinois,  who  lives  at  Orange,  New  Jer- 
sey, and  I  stayed  there  several  days.  I  went  over 
New  York  and  Brooklyn  by  the  bridge  and  the  ele- 
vated railway,  but  scarcely  touched  the  metropolis. 

However,  I  saw  my  old  friends,  and  a  good  many 
new  people,  and  had  a  pleasant  time. 

And  now,  I  am  urgently  invited  to  my  old 
Illinois  seminary,  in  June,  when  it  has  its  semi- 
centennial anniversary.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have 
to  go,  as  my  Minnesota  sister  seconds  the  motion, 
and  she  expects  to  move  to  California,  another  year. 

What  a  moving  world  it  is  !  .  .  . 

The  "New  England  Girlhood,"  published  in 
1889,  was  at  once  a  success.  Few  facts  of  Miss 
Larcom's  life  had  been  generally  known  up  to  this 
time  ;  there  had  been,  however,  interesting  biograph- 


UNDERCURRENTS.  239 

ical  sketches  printed  from  time  to  time,  notably 
Mrs.  A.  D.  T.  Whitney's  sketch,  in  "  American 
Women  o£  Note,"  and  her  own  article,  in  the  "  At- 
lantic Monthly,"  with  the  title  "  Among  Lowell 
Mill-Girls."  But  in  this  book  she  took  her  friends 
into  her  confidence,  and  showed  such  genuineness 
of  feeling,  and  love  for  her  modest  beginnings 
in  the  old  town  of  Beverly,  with  its  lanes,  its 
woods,  and  its  seacoast,  that  her  description  stirred 
up  the  memory  of  similar  days  in  the  thought  of 
New  England  people,  at  home,  and  in  distant  parts 
of  the  country.  This  account  of  her  youth  con- 
tains the  best  elements  of  her  thought  and  life,  in 
a  story,  charming  for  its  simplicity  and  trvithfid 
portraiture  of  New  England  homes  before  any  of 
the  modern  changes  had  taken  place,  —  those 
changes  that  introduced  stoves  and  shut  up  the 
great  fireplaces,  that  substituted  for  the  stage- 
coach the  horse  and  electric  car,  put  clocks  on  the 
mantelpiece,  and  relegated  to  the  junk-shops  the 
"  tin  kitchens  "  and  the  three-legged  "  trivet."  Its 
homely  incident  and  the  sincerity  of  its  religious 
sentiment  render  it  an  excellent  book  to  jjut  into 
the  hands  of  young  girls ;  by  reading  it  they  are 
brought  into  connection  with  the  refined  and  vigor- 
ous girlhood  of  an  actual  life.  One  critic  remarked, 
"  If  there  could  be  more  biography  like  this,  there 
would  be  less  call  for  fiction."  Miss  Larcom  re- 
ceived numerous  letters  of  thanks  for  having  writ- 
ten the  book.  A  gentleman  sent  her  a  check,  as  an 
evidence  of  his  satisfaction.     An  aged  man  wrote, 


240  LUCY    LABCOM. 

—  "  If  it  was  written  for  the  young,  it  certainly 
was  for  the  old.  I  am  now  eighty-five  years  old 
and  never  was  more  delighted."  Mr.  Whittier  sent 
his  approval :  "  I  am  reading  the  book  for  the 
second  time,  with  increased  pleasure ;  I  recall  my 
first  meeting  with  thee  at  Lowell,  after  thy  return 
from  the  West." 

That  she  enjoyed  these  tokens  of  appreciation, 
this  letter  indicates. 

TO  MRS.  S.  I.  SPALDING. 

214  Columbus  Avenue, 
Saturday  evening,  December  28,  1889. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  I  have  just  come  in  and 
read  Mrs.  S 's  letter,  which  I  return.  Her  en- 
thusiasm inspires  me  just  as  I  like  to  be  inspired. 
I  felt  in  writing  the  book  that  I  was  just  entering 
into  my  past  life,  and  taking  my  friends  with  me. 
I  did  not  feel  that  I  was  making  a  "  literary  effort," 
but  just  taking  a  little  journey  backward. 

I  ai^preciate  the  readers  who  will  simply  go  along 

with  me,  as  Mrs.  S does.     I  am  glad  to  give 

myself  to  those  who  understand  the  gift,  and  I 
would  like  to  find  more  in  myself  for  them,  if  I 
could.  It  is  just  like  taking  hold  of  hands  all 
round,  these  pleasant  acknowledgments  that  come 
to  me.  It  is  ou7'  life  that  we  are  enjoying  to- 
gether. .  .  . 

Mr.  Brooks  sent  one  of  his  short,  characteristic 
notes,  thanking  her  for  "  A  New  England  Girl- 
hood." 


UNDERCURRENTS.  241 

233  Clarendon  Street, 
Boston,  December  9,  1889. 

My  dear  Miss  Larcom,  —  I  have  never  been  a 
Yankee  girl,  and  yet  I  felt  that  I  recognized  every 
picture  in  what  I  read,  and  I  have  read  it  all. 

To  hear  of  the  American  First  Class  Book  again 
was  like  a  breeze  out  of  my  childhood ! 

And  I  hope  all  the  girls  are  reading  it,  and  catch- 
ing the  flavor  of  its  healthy  spirit. 

At  any  rate,  I  thank  you  for  it,  and  I  am  yours 
most  sincerely,  Phillips  Brooks. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MEMBERSHIP   IN   THE   EPISCOPAL   CHURCH. 

The  loiiffiiiff  for  a  relloioiis  home  asserted  itself 
in  Miss  Larcom's  life,  and  the  thought  came  to  her 
that  she  was  not  testifying  to  her  deep  love  for  her 
Master,  by  withholding  herself  from  active  mem- 
bership in  some  Church  of  Christ.  In  her  diary, 
where  she  wrote  with  great  freedom  her  inmost 
feelings,  there  are  passages  which  indicate  discon- 
tent with  her  negative  position.  She  was  being 
forced  to  a  conclusion  :  — 

"  I  must  decide  for  myself  whether  the  Church  is 
a  reality  to  me  ;  whether,  in  the  visible  Church, 
working  for  it,  and  with  it,  I  can  be  more  useful 
than  I  should  be,  floating  on  still,  trying  to  accom- 
modate myself  to  circumstances,  and  to  harmonize 
myself  with  the  best  in  everything,  without  any 
special  ties.  Having  lived  outside  the  Church  so 
long,  I  have  a  great  longing  for  a  closer  sympathy 
and  workino;  to2"ether  with  others.  But  whether  it 
can  be  with  my  old  Congregational  friends,  I  am 
not  certain.  It  would  be  better  to  stay  with  them, 
identified  with  their  name  and  work,  if  I  can  do  it 
from  my  heart,  but  not  if  I  am  called  upon  to  say 
anything  that  I  do  not  believe." 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  EPISCOPAL   CHURCH.     243 

AVliile  in  tliis  state  of  uncertainty,  the  Church 
was  gradually  making  its  way  into  her  life.  She 
looked  forward  to  each  Sunday,  with  eagerness  ; 
and  the  message  from  the  day's  sermon  she  either 
put  in  her  diary,  or  conveyed,  by  means  of  letters, 
to  her  little  crippled  friend,  Elsie  L^ . 

The  Church- Year,  with  its  sacred  anniversaries, 
became  very  dear  to  her.  In  her  diary,  there  is  a 
record  referring  to  Passion  Week,  that  shows  her 
appreciation  of  these  Church  days :  "  I  think  it 
most  beautiful  to  keep  these  memorial  days  of  the 
Church,  whether  we  belong  to  the  Episcopal  Church 
or  any  other.  These  are  the  days  for  all  Christians 
to  observe." 

April  8,  Good  Friday.  Passion  Week  has  been 
a  revelation  to  me  of  the  divine  history  made  real. 
It  has  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  really  followed  and  fal- 
tered with  the  disciples,  in  Gethseraane,  at  the  mock 
trial  of  Pilate,  and  through  the  terrible  scenes  of 
the  Crucifixion.  It  is  so  much  to  the  world,  that 
the  Church  has  kept  up  the  Christian  year,  with 
these  awful  and  glorious  anniversaries.  How  often 
their  reality  has  faded  out,  when  men  are  left  to 
themselves. 

I  could  thank  the  Church,  almost,  for  having  im- 
pressed them  so  upon  her  history,  that  tliey  some- 
times seem  hardened  into  it  I  She  has  never  let 
them  become  mere  idle  tales  ;  the  life  and  death  of 
Christ,  held  so  close  to  her  heart,  have  kept  her 
alive,  through  all  her  formalisms. 


244  LUCY  LARCOM. 

In  the  worship,  the  part  taken  by  the  congre- 
gation, in  responsive  readings,  prayers,  versicles, 
and  Litany,  appealed  to  her.  She  felt  that  she  was 
not  being  preached  at  through  the  disguise  of  a 
prayer,  but  that  all  —  minister  and  people  —  joined 
in  the  praises  to  God,  each  with  a  phrase  on  his 
lips  and  a  meditation  in  his  heart.  The  dignity  and 
orderly  arrangement  of  the  services,  together  with 
the  use  of  the  stately  words  of  the  Prayer  Book, 
made  her  appreciate  the  beautiful  formality  of  such 
devotional  customs. 

Her  affections  were  strengthened  by  an  act  which 
seemed  to  open  a  new  set  of  experiences  to  her. 
This  act  was  the  partaking  of  the  Holy  Communion 
early  on  Easter  Day,  in  1887.  Mr.  Brooks  had 
given  notice,  inviting  to  the  Lord's  Supper  any 
persons  who  might  desire  to  come,  though  they 
belono-ed  to  some  other  branch  of  the  Church  of 
Christ.  A  friend  of  Miss  Larcom  urged  her  to 
accept  the  invitation.  The  generosity  of  it  fasci- 
nated her  ;  the  thought  of  all  who  loved  Jesus,  lov- 
ing Him  perhaps  in  different  ways,  meeting  around 
the  Father's  table,  was  in  thorough  accord  with 
her  own  feelings.  Going  to  the  service,  and  taking 
her  place  at  the  altar  rail,  she  received  the  bread 
and  wine  administered  in  the  reverent  manner  of 
the  Episcopal  Church,  This  one  act,  in  the  early 
morning  of  Easter  day,  revealed  to  her  the  spiritual 
meaning  of  the  worship,  and  seemed  to  bring  her  in 
closest  touch  with  the  Master ;  and  afterwards  the 
Church  became  a  different  place  to  her ;  she  was 


MEMBERSHIP   IN  EPISCOPAL   CHURCH.     245 

becoming  one  with  it,  though  she  yet  had  no  right 
to  call  herself  a  member.  Referring  to  this  Com- 
mnnion,  she  said,  "  How  free  the  Lord's  table  ought 
to  be !  and  how  beautiful  it  was  at  that  early  Com- 
munion ;  the  church  fragrant  and  fresh,  and  glow- 
ing with  flowers  !  It  seemed  like  meeting  Christ 
with  Mary  in  the  Garden,  just  as  he  had  risen  from 
the  Grave  !  I  do  think  the  Communion  service 
of  the  church  most  ini-eaching  and  uplifting  in  its 
earnestness,  its  simplicity,  its  spirituality." 

"As  I  remember  this  service  in  the  Congregational 
church,  that  method  seems  almost  formal  in  com- 
parison with  this.  Perhaps  there  is  something  in 
the  very  movement  required,  —  the  person  going 
forward  to  the  table  to  share  the  bread  and  wine, 
each  with  the  rest,  yet  each  of  us  receiving  them 
directly  from  Christ  —  His  own  life,  to  be  trans- 
fused into  ours.  There  is  certainly  a  clearer  mean- 
ing in  it  all  to  me,  whenever  I  join  in  the  service  at 
Trinity  Church. 

"  The  crowd  in  the  church  afterwards,  who  came 
to  the  later  services  and  sermon,  was  also  most 
impressive,  filling  in  even  every  smallest  space  in 
the  chancel,  among  the  flowers.  The  sermon  was 
strong  and  deep,  impressing  the  thought  that  life 
is  the  one  reality,  and  death  and  sorrow  and  sin 
only  partial  experiences.  Life  the  ocean,  and  all 
these  things  but  ripples  on  the  surface. 

"  The  last  thought  for  the  day,  —  in  the  evening, 
—  was  that  injustice  never  does  triumph,  however 
it  may  seem." 


246  LUCY  LABCOM. 

April  22.  Emeline's  birthday, —  the  dearest  of  my 
sisters  —  more  than  a  mother  to  me  —  now  three- 
score and  ten.  But  I  live  my  child-life  over  again 
with  her,  and  our  two  lives  make  a  glad  harmony 
all  through.  How  much  shall  we  keep  of  ourselves 
and  our  human  relations,  forever  ?  All  that  has 
been  real,  surely.  And  so  we  are  mature  women 
and  little  children  together,  at  once,  in  the  immor- 
tal life. 

The  past  week  has  been  one  of  rather  unpleasant 
experiences,  in  some  ways.  The  Beverly  Farms 
bribery  investigation  at  the  State  House  has  occu- 
pied me.  Whether  bribery  or  not,  great  injustice 
is  attempted  on  my  native  town,  which  I  love  and 
will  defend,  so  long  as  I  know  her  to  be  unmistak- 
ably in  the  right,  as  she  is  now. 

I  have  done  the  little  I  could,  so  far  ;  have  written 
for  the  newspapers,  —  have  sent  a  letter  of  request 
for  veto  to  the  governor,  —  and  joined  the  women 
of  Beverly  in  a  petition  to  him,  to  the  same  effect, 
and  I  shall  hold  myself  ready  to  do  more,  if  needed. 
But  I  do  trust  that  our  legislature  will,  of  them- 
selves, make  the  matter  right. 

April  25.  Spring  is  in  the  air,  even  in  Boston, 
although  just  a  week  ago  to-day  we  had  one  of  the 
worst  snowstorms  of  the  season. 

Yesterday's  experience  is  something  not  to  be 
forgotten,  though  unrecordable.  There  are  no 
words  to  repeat  the  spirit's  story,  when  it  is  taken 
possession  of  by  the  highest  influences,  and  lifted 
lip  into  the  heaven  of  aspiration  and  consecration  ; 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  EPISCOPAL   CHUBCH.      247 

when  the  way  is  open  through  sympathy  with 
human  souls,  and  with  the  Eternal  Son,  into  the 
Father's  heart. 

How  easy  the  spiritual  life  seems,  when  mate- 
rial things  fall  into  their  subordinate  places !  If  it 
might  always  be  so  ! 

May  20.  Still  in  Boston,  interested  in  many 
things.  People  ca'e  trying  to  help  each  other.  I 
have  been  at  the  Woman's  Industrial  Union,  have 
heard  Miss  Leigh  talk  of  her  woi-k  in  Pai*is,  have 
talked  over  the  possibilities  of  better  influences 
for  girl-workers  in  Boston,  have  listened  to  Miss 
Freeman's  report  of  her  Student's  Aid  work  at 
Wellesley  College  —  all  so  suggestive  —  so  hope- 
ful !  What  should  not  the  woman  of  the  future 
be  ?     What  may  she  not  be  ? 

"  I  saw  all  women  of  our  race 
Revealed  in  that  one  woman's  face !  " 

June  6.  Canon  Wilberforce  and  the  great  tem- 
perance meeting  at  Tremont  Temple.  A  most  elo- 
quent man,  and  he  goes  to  the  very  root  of  the 
matter,  —  no  real  temperance  without  spirituality. 
"  Not  drunken  with  wine,  but  filled  with  the  Holy 
Ghost,"  —  he  made  that  infinite  contrast  clear. 
His  sermon  yesterday  was  most  impressive,  —  from 
the  text,  "  What  seest  thou  ?  "  It  was  a  Trinity 
Sunday  sermon,  and  the  thought  was  that  in  Jesus 
we  see  God  most  jierfectly.  But  emphasis  was 
placed  upon  the  attitude  and  condition  of  the  soul, 
for  the  seeing.     It  was  Canon  Wilberforce's  first 


248  LUCY  LARCOM. 

sermon  in  Boston,  and  I  think  this  is  his  first  visit 
to  America.  It  is  good  to  have  such  neighbors 
come  to  see  us. 

In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Brooks  spoke  from  the 
text,  "  He  that  hath  the  Son  hath  life."  I  have 
seklom  heard  him  speak  with  more  fervor,  of  what 
life  is,  and  of  the  dreadful  thing  it  is  to  lack  life, 
the  life  that  comes  to  us  and  is  in  us  through 
Christ,  —  the  life  of  God  in  human  souls.  It  is 
his  last  sermon  for  the  summer,  and  the  text  itself 
is  one  to  keep  close  at  heart  all  through  the  year. 
"  Not  merely  the  knowledge  of  Christ,  but  Christ 
Himself  with  us,  we  must  have,"  he  said :  and  with 
the  thought  comes  the  suggestion  of  all  true  rela- 
tions of  spirit  with  spirit,  the  human  and  the  divine 
interblended,  God  the  soul  of  our  souls  and  the 
children  one  with  the  Father  through  the  Son.  I 
thank  God  for  what  I  have  found  at  Trinity  Church 
this  winter :  I  begin  to  know  more  what  the  true 
Church  is,  —  nothing  exclusive  or  separating,  but 
the  comino'  to2:etlier  of  all»souls  in  Christ. 

June  12.  In  Beverly,  but  not  yet  acclimated  to 
the  stronger  sweep  of  the  east  winds.  They  give 
rheumatic  twinges.  But  the  birds  sing,  and  the 
fresh  foliage  is  shaken  out  into  greenness,  the  rose 
acacia  and  the  bridal-wreath  spirea  run  wild  in  the 
garden,  and  the  freedom  of  nature's  life  revives 
mine.  The  thrill  of  the  oriole,  —  vdiat  a  jubilation 
it  is,  through  the  Sabbath  stillness ;  it  is  better  than 
the  city  in  summer  time. 

Read  this  morning  Phillips   Brooks'  sermon   on 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  EPISCOPAL   CHURCH.      249 

"  Visions "  and   "  Tasks,"    and    several    others  — 
among  them,  the  "  Church  of  the  Living-  God." 

With  reference  to  doctrines,  she  understood  the 
Church's  position.  The  great  facts  of  Christianity 
as  set  forth  in  the  Apostles  Creed,  she  did  not 
doubt ;  and  she  liked  the  comprehensiveness  of  a 
Church,  admitting  those  who  accept  these  facts 
and  desire  to  live  a  Christian  life,  and  permitting  a 
private  opinion  on  many  complicated  questions  of 
theology.  And  yet,  with  her  appreciation  for  the 
Church,  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  enter 
it.  There  were  objections  difficult  for  her  to  over- 
come. 

These  objections  were  not  of  a  devotional  or 
theological,  but  of  an  ecclesiastical  character. 
High-Churchism,  including  in  that  term  Sacerdotal- 
ism, offered  a  barrier.  She  felt  that,  by  joining 
the  Church,  she  would  seem  to  approve  of  this 
teaching,  and  while  she  was  willing  to  admit  the 
historical  fact  of  Apostolical  continuity,  she  could 
not  accept  a  theory  of  Apostolical  succession  which 
in  any  way  seemed  to  exclude  from  good  standing, 
as  Churches,  the  various  religious  denominations 
which  she  had  known  and  loved.  She  said,  "In 
the  broad  idea  of  Christ's  Church,  Episcopacy  at 
times  seems  to  me  no  less  sectarian  than  other 
'  isms.'  "  She  had  too  much  of  the  Puritan  in  her 
to  make  any  such  admissions  about  the  Episcopal 
Church  that  would  seem  to  indicate  that  she  felt 
it  was  the  only  Church.     Her  position,  as  late  as 


250  LUCY  LABCOM. 

1890,  is  very  well  put,  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  S.  I. 
Spalding-,  of  Newbuiyport. 

"  I  do  feel  nearer  a  conclusion,  such  as  you 
woidd  approve,  than  I  ever  have  yet.  I  think, 
sometimes,  I  can  see  my  way  perfectly  clear,  but 
old  notions  are  hard  to  change.  Do  you  think  I 
can  take  all  the  Puritanism  implied  in  "A  New  Eng- 
land Girlhood,"  into  the  Church  with  me?  Is  it 
possible  to  be  inside  the  latter,  and  yet  feel  that  all 
the  others  are  Churches,  too,  and  that  I  am  only 
signifying  that  I  want  to  be  more  completely  in 
union  with  them  all,  by  identifying  myself  with  this 
one  ?  This  is  the  way  I  should  want  to  feel  and 
do." 

By  means  of  letters  and  conversations  with  Mr. 
Brooks,  she  saw  that  it  was  not  necessary  for  her 
to  give  up  all  her  Puritanism,  on  coming  into  the 
Church,  nor  was  she  bound  to  accept  the  interpre- 
tation that  some  Episcopalians  put  upon  the  Sac- 
raments or  Orders  in  the  ministry.  She  learned 
that  the  difficulties  she  was  considering  were  dis- 
i)elled  by  the  conception  of  the  comprehensiveness 
of  the  Church.  Mr.  Brooks  wrote  her,  concerning 
a  discussion  in  the  Church  papers,  in  which  Sacer- 
dotalism was  especially  rampant :  "  There  is  nothing 
in  it,  which  is  not  now  repeated  for  the  hundredth 
time.  The  solution  of  it  all  is  in  the  comprehen- 
siveness of  the  Church,  which  includes  the  vast  ex- 
panse both  of  breadth  and  narrowness."  In  March, 
1890,  she  came  to  the  end  of  her  discussions,  and 
seemed  to  see  the  true  meaning  of  the  Episcopal 


MEMBEESHir  IN  EPISCOPAL   CHURCH.      251 

Cliurch,  as  one  method  of  entering  the  larger  In- 
visible Church  of  Christ.  She  preferred  this  path 
to  others,  but  looked  uj)on  it  as  a  path,  not  the  end 
of  the  journey. 

March  1,  1890.  The  same  questionings, — yet  a 
clearer  light  upon  the  meaning  of  the  Church  has 
gradually  come  to  me.  It  is  as  if  there  were  many 
doors  of  entrance  into  one  vast  temple,  some  of 
them  opened  a  little  way,  and  with  much  scrutiny 
from  within  of  applicants  for  admission  ;  some 
swung  wide  with  welcome.  But  there  is  one  united 
worship  inside,  only  some  prefer  to  group  them- 
selves in  cloisters  or  corners  ;  but  there  is  freedom 
and  light  for  all  who  will  receive  them. 

The  Episcopal  Church  seems  to  have  several 
doors  of  its  own,  —  some  wide  and  some  narrow ; 
it  is  not  the  Church,  —  only  one  way  of  entering 
Christ's  Church.  If  I  can  enter  it  that  way,  I  am 
already  there.  And  I  believe  more  positively  than 
ever,  that  we  should  say,  in  some  distinct,  personal 
way,  that  Christ  is  the  centre  and  head  of  human- 
ity, and  that  our  whole  life,  earthly  and  heavenly, 
is  hid  in  Him. 

What  belongs  to  me  in  Puritanism  I  shall  never 
lay  aside ;  I  could  not,  if  I  would.  But  I  do  see 
more  of  a  hope  for  future  unity  in  the  Church  ser- 
vice than  in  any  other  way  ;  and  if  I  can  see  therein 
for  myself  the  perfect  freedom  of  Christ's  service,  1 
am  ready  to  make  a  new  profession  there.  I  am 
waiting  only  for  His  guidance,  now. 


252  LUCY    LARCOM. 

I  see  more  and  imdic  how  much  the  writings  of 
iSIaiirice  have  been  to  me  for  the  past  twenty  years. 
He  is  continually  unfolding  my  owti  thoughts  to 
me,  —  his  absolute  sincerity  is  contagious.  I  want 
no  ]»retenses,  no  subterfuges  or  concessions  in  the 
spiritual  life.  He  speaks  to  me  more  clearly  than 
almost  any  audible  voice.  And  his  words  seem 
the  expression  of  the  mind  of  Clnist. 

March  5.  My  birtliduy.  And  the  wf)rld  seems 
as  if  it  were  dimly  dawning  anew  to  me.  Every- 
thing in  my  life  has  taken  a  touch  of  awe,  —  of 
strangeness. 

I  do  not  know  that  there  is  any  new  gladness  in 
the  decision  I  made  yesterday,  to  be  "  confirmed  " 
at  Trinity  Church.  Imt  there  is  a  settled  feeling 
that  may  grow  into  hapjuness.  I  can  say  that  my 
"heart  is  fixed,"  and  my  liff  wiil  l)e  firmer  and 
more  settled,  for  having  found  a  ]»lace  for  itself. 
The  church  itself  seemed  a  different  and  more 
beautiful  place,  as  I  sat  there  and  listened  to  the 
story  of  the  Woman  of  Samaria,  and  of  the  sepa- 
rateness  of  souls  in  consecrated  work.  "  IMeat  to 
eat  that  ye  know  not  of,"  the  doing  of  God's  will, 
—  the  hidden  manna  and  the  white  stone,  with  the 
new  name  known  only  to  him  who  receives  it. 
Yes,  this  one  little  decision  has  opened  closed  doors 
to  me  already  —  everything  looks  sacred. 

March  20.  Last  night  I  knelt  in  the  chancel  at 
Trinity  Cluu-ch,  and  received,  with  many  others, 
the  benediction  of  consecrated  hands ;  and  to-day 
I  can  think  of  myself  as  avowedly  in  the  visible 


MEMBERSHIP  L\   EPISCOPAL   CHURCH.      253 

Church  once  more.  I  have  been  in  a  false  position 
all  these  years,  —  1  see  it  ucnv.  It  does  mean  some- 
thing to  name  the  name  of  Christ  in  the  presence 
of  His  people,  as  one  of  their  company.  I  have 
not  been  an  unbeliever,  ever ;  He  has  been  dear  to 
me  always,  and  most  real  to  my  heart. 

It  was  tranquillizing,  to  be  bending  there  with 
all  that  young  life,  —  (no  other  older  life),  the 
snow  falling  without, soft  and  white  as  doves'  wings, 
and  the  quiet  consecration  filling  all  hearts  within. 
I  was  not  wholly  happy  ;  I  have  had  too  many  strug- 
gles with  myself,  and  misapprehension  between  my 
own  h6art  and  others,  perhaps,  to  feel  glad  or  up- 
lifted,—  but  I  was  calm  and  thankful,  and  felt  the 
atmosphere  of  blessing  surrounding  us  all. 

It  is  good  to  have  taken  this  position  ;  I  shall 
feel  stronger  and  richer  in  life  and  spirit  for  it,  I 
trust  and  believe. 

The  few  words  of  Mr.  Brooks  this  morning  at 
the  church  seemed  to  carry  out  the  spirit  of  last 
night's  service.  We  climb  up  the  great  mountain- 
tops,  he  said,  but  we  cannot  live  there,  though  we 
may  keep  their  inspiration  within  us.  But  the 
high  table-lands  wdiich  we  have  gained  by  long 
gradual  ascent,  —  we  can  live  and  breathe  there ; 
and  can  grow  hopeful  in  the  broad  outlook  before 
us.  Such  are  the  consecrations  of  life  to  which  we 
have  grown  step  by  step,  out  of  which  greater  de- 
velopments are  to  open  for  us,  and  above  which  the 
loftier  summits  are  always  overhanging. 

March  26.     The  thought  that  has  been  with  me 


254  LZTCY  LARCOM. 

most  these  few  days  is  that  consecration  means  ser- 
vice :  that  it  is  not  for  one's  self  alone,  —  not  the 
mere  endeavor  after  personal  holiness,  —  but  to  give 
the  life  into  which  we  enter  to  all  other  lives  we  can 
reach.  (John  xvii.  18,  19.)  The  spirit  of  these 
words  of  Christ  is  the  true  setting  apart  of  life,  for 
the  sake  of  all  human  lives. 

The  chapter  for  to-day  —  the  going  forth  of 
Joshua  into  Canaan  after  that  glorious  Nebo-Vision 
of  Moses,  is  full  of  suggestions  for  me.  I  have  not 
yet  possessed  my  whole  life,  none  of  us  have,  but 
we  go  forward  courageously  into  it,  in  the  name  of 
the  Lord. 

We  have  sketched,  chiefly  in  her  own  words,  for 
they  have  a  greater  significance,  the  history  of  a 
religious  woman,  finding  her  way  into  the  Kingdom 
of  Christ  through  the  doorway  of  the  Episcopal 
Church.  She  was  a  catholic,  broad-minded  Chris- 
tian, and  she  became  satisfied  with  the  doctrine  and 
worship  of  the  Church.  She  looked  upon  it  as  one 
branch  of  the  Church  of  God,  but  she  also  ac- 
knowledged other  branches  ;  it  became  as  much  a 
home  to  her  as  it  was  possible  for  any  Church  to 
be.  She  grew  to  love  it,  but  the  ideal  and  Invis- 
ible Church  was  ever  before  her  mind. 

The  religious  history  of  her  life  is  like  that  of 
many  others  —  those  who  have  become  dissatisfied 
with  a  theology  made  up  of  men's  opinions,  and 
who  seek  light  and  life  in  the  personality  of  Jesus. 
There  are  many  persons  to-day,  with  natures  capa- 


MEMBERSHIP  IN  EPISCOPAL   CHURCH.       255 

ble  of  spiritual  insight,  who  have  been  educated  to 
appreciate  the  best  in  our  literature,  who  believe 
in  righteousness,  —  people  with  poetry  in  them, 
and  a  delicate  sense  o£  fitness  and  dignity,  who  are 
thinking  of  the  Episcopal  Church  as  a  religious 
home.  To  such  persons,  a  progress  similar  to  that 
of  Miss  Larcom  can  be  effected  only  by  the  Church 
emphasizing  those  qualities  which  attracted  her. 
These  characteristics  of  the  Church  may  be  sum- 
marized as  the  spirituality,  the  breadth,  and  the 
magnanimity  of  the  Church. 

Prominent  through  all  the  services,  the  various 
organized  forms  of  church  work,  the  observances 
of  festivals  and  seasons,  must  be  the  spiritual  idea 
for  which  they  all  stand.  This  spiritual  idea  is 
the  bringing  of  the  individual  soul  into  such  rela- 
tions with  Jesus  that  it  will  find  its  truest  self  in 
Him  and  through  Him,  find  its  greatest  activity 
in  reaching  other  souls.  This  great  aim  is  fre- 
quently lost  sight  of,  because  the  Churches  are  so 
often  business  establishments  for  the  collection  of 
money,  and  the  successful  management  of  organi- 
zations. But  there  are  souls  longing  to  be  fed, 
and  these  should  be  remembered  when  the  church 
seasons  come,  by  the  administration  of  Sacraments 
as  the  simple  offering  of  nourishment  to  those  who 
need  it,  not  with  the  theological  accompaniments 
of  argument,  but  in  the  sacredness  of  dependence 
on  Christ,  as  in  the  first  Easter  communion  of 
Lucy  Larcom,  at  Trinity  Church. 

There  is  no  need  to  elaborate  the  ideas  of  the 


256  LUCY    LARCOM. 

breadth,  or  magnanimity  of  the  Church  ;  for,  in 
this  clay  of  vigorous  thought  and  reconstruction  of 
older  doctrines,  both  of  these  characteristics  would 
seem  to  commend  themselves,  on  their  simple  an- 
nouncement :  for  who  is  it  that  longs  for  the  nar- 
rowness of  a  "  Westminster  Confession  "  or  even 
the  mild  bondage  of  "  The  Thirty-Nine  Articles  "  ? 
And  who  is  it  that  has  sufficient  effrontery  to  un- 
church the  millions  who  are  trying  in  their  own 
ways  to  serve  their  Lord  ?  That  there  is  such  nar- 
rowness in  the  Episcopal  Church  no  one  can  deny ; 
it  is  in  opposition  to  this  that  it  must  present  itself 
to  the  world,  as  a  comprehensive  and  tolerant 
Church. 

Lucy  Larcom,  a  Puritan,  seized  upon  the  vital 
truths  of  the  Episcopal  Church.  If  these  are 
kept  before  the  people,  this  Church,  as  a  part  of 
the  kingdom  of  Christ,  may  hope  to  have  a  large 
influence  in  the  development  of  American  Chris- 
tianity. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

LAST  YEARS. 

Miss  Larcom  was  loved  in  Beverly.  The  towns- 
people were  justly  proud  of  liei',  and  tliey  always 
welcomed  her  sweet  face  into  their  homes.  She 
was  interested  in  the  Town  Improvement  Society, 
and  once,  at  one  of  its  entertainments,  she  read  two 
or  three  of  her  poems.  When  there  was  an  effort 
made  to  secure  Prospect  Hill  for  a  public  park, 
she  sent  some  appropriate  lines  to  the  local  paper, 
hoping  to  influence  opinion.  Her  public  spirit,  as 
shown  in  her  letters  and  diaries,  was  also  active  in 
her  life,  and  she  joined,  according  to  her  opportu- 
nities, in  such  affairs  as  could  receive  aid  from  her 
pen,  and  the  townspeople  were  gratified  by  her  con- 
tributions to  the  village  life. 

The  success  in  literature  of  a  Beverly  boy  made 
her  happy.  When  Mr.  George  E.  Woodberry  en- 
tered the  company  of  American  poets  by  the  pub- 
lishing of  the  "  North  Shore  Watch,"  a  volume 
containing  the  triumphant  ode,  "  My  Country,"  not 
unworthy  of  comparison  with  Lowell's  "  Commem- 
oration Ode,"  and  the  strong  sonnets,  "  At  Gibral- 
tar," and  the  classic  "Agathon,"  she  was  one  of  the 
first  to  send  him  her  appreciation. 


258  LUCY  LARCOM. 


TO    GEORGE    EDWARD   WOODBERRY. 

214  Columbus  Avenue, 
Boston,  February  18,  1889, 

Dear  Mr.  Woodberry,  —  I  have  just  been 
reading  your  poems,  and  have  been  so  much  moved 
by  them  that  I  wanted  at  once  to  tell  you  how 
deeply  they  appeal  to  me.  Most  of  our  modern 
verse,  —  and  I  include  my  own,  —  is  too  superfi- 
cially lyrical,  the  measure  often  muffles  the  mean- 
ing, —  the  thought  flies  off  through  the  sound. 
In  yours,  the  music  and  the  meaning  unfold  to- 
gether, always  hinting  the  deeper  chords  half  awak- 
ened beneath.  The  feeling  of  the  unexpressed 
and  the  inexpressible  infinite  —  that  which  is  at 
the  source  of  everything  real  —  that  which  is  life 
itself,  is  in  your  poetry,  as  in  almost  no  other  mod- 
ern poetry  that  I  have  read. 

The  "  Transcript "  compares  it  with  Clough's. 
I  delight  in  Clough,  but  I  do  not  like  comparisons 
of  this  kind.  You  strike  different  chords,  and  I 
believe  that  you  have  greater  possibilities  than  he. 
What  touches  me  especially  is  the  high  purity  of 
emotion  which  is  yet  as  human  as  it  is  holy.  This 
is  rare,  even  in  great  poetry.  As  I  read  some 
lines,  it  seemed  as  if  my  soul  were  weeping  for  joy 
at  their  beauty. 

"  Agathon  "  I  wanted  to  read  over  again  as  soon 
as  I  had  finished  it.  Indeed,  I  shall  want  to  turn 
to  it  often,  for  a  breath  of  the  pure  poetic  ether. 
I  do  not  know  a  greater  poem  of  its  kind  since 


LAST  YEARS.  259 

"  Comus."  Page  42,  and  from  59  onward,  Milton 
might  have  been  proud  to  write.  They  appeal  to 
all  that  nobler  part  of  us  that  lives  beneath  the 
shows  of  things ;  and  I  am  glad  that  so  young  a 
poet  as  you  begins  his  song  so  nobly.  I  am  proud, 
too,  that  you  are  a  Beverly  boy,  as  I  am  a  Beverly 
woman.  But  for  that,  I  might  not  have  ventured 
to  write  so  freely.  I  have  not  room  to  write  all 
I  want  to  say,  but  I  must  mention  the  "  Christ 
Scourged,"  which  seems  to  me  wonderful  in  its 
strength  of  sympathetic  expression.  It  would  give 
me  great  pleasure  to  meet  you.  If  you  are  stay- 
ing in  town,  I  wish  you  would  call  here  some 
evening. 

Truly  yours, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

In  preparing  a  new  edition  of  "  Songs  of  Three 
Centuries,"  she  included  among  the  additions,  a 
poem  by  Dr.  Solis-Cohen,  "  I  Know  that  My  Re- 
deemer Liveth,"  and  also,  "The  Crowing  of  the 
Red  Cock,"  bv  Emma  Lazarus.  In  the  coui'se  of  the 
correspondence.  Dr.  Solis-Cohen  wrote  so  frankly, 
giving  his  feelings  about  Christ  from  an  intelligent 
Jewish  standpoint,  that  she  answered  in  a  similar 
vein,  stating  clearly  her  idea  of  the  relations  that 
should  exist  between  the  Jew  and  Christian.  Dr. 
Solis-Cohen  had  written :  "  No  professed  Christian 
can  exceed  many  Jews  in  love  for  the  pure  and 
lofty  character  of  Jesus,  and  we  can  readily  accept 
that  chai-acter,  as  a  manifestation  of  God  in  man, 


260  LUCY    LARCOM. 

while  we   decline  to  accept  the  superstructure  of 
the  Church." 

TO    DR.    SOLOMON    SOLIS-COIIEN. 

Beverly,  Mass.,  October  18,  1890. 

Dr.  S.  Solis-Cohen  :  — 

Dear  Sir,  —  The  proof  of  your  poem  is  just 
received,  —  and  I  have  put  your  corrections  away 
so  carefully  that  I  cannot  at  this  moment  lay  my 
hand  upon  them ;  so  I  will  ask  you  to  correct  the 
copy  and  send  it  to  the  printers  as  soon  as  conven- 
ient.    I  will  tell  them  to  wait  for  it. 

The  magazine  with  the  poem  in  it  is  received  — 
beautiful  and  graceful  I  find  the  latter.  I  wish 
the  additions  to  the  "  Songs  "  were  not  limited  — 
but  the  publishers  do  not  wish  to  enlarge  the  vol- 
ume too  much.  We  shall  have  two  poems  by 
Emma  Lazarus  ;  one  of  them  Mr.  Whittier  tells  me 
he  considers  her  best  —  "  The  Crowing  of  the  Red 
Cock." 

Your  letter  interests  me  exceedingly.  I  grew 
up  under  the  influence  of  old-fashioned  Puritanism, 
and  from  it  drew  the  idea  that  Jew  and  Christian 
were  really  one,  only  they  did  not  understand  each 
other. 

Children  do  construct  their  own  theology  oftener 
than  is  thought,  I  believe.  The  Puritan  was  like 
the  Hebrew  in  many  ways,  most  of  all  in  his  firm 
hold  of  moral  distinctions,  in  his  belief  in  the  One 
God  as  the  God  of  righteousness  and  truth. 

Certainly  no  one  ev^er  insisted  upon  obedience  to 


LAST   YEARS.  261 

the  law  more  positively  than  Christ  himself.  We 
Christians  do  believe  in  Him  as  the  human  mani- 
festation of  God  :  that  is  the  one  distinctive  ele- 
ment of  our  faith. 

All  sorts  of  strange  doctrines  have  been  built  up 
about  this  idea. 

I  care  for  none  of  them,  but  rest  upon  what  is 
to  me  a  spiritual  certainty  —  "  Truly  this  is  the 
Son  of  God." 

I  emphasize  the  "  is  "  because  to  me  that  visible 
life  was  only  one  phase  of  His  eternal  presence 
in  and  with  humanity.  To  me  He  is  "  the  living 
Lord  "  —  the  Spirit  bearing  witness  to  our  spirits 
of  their  own  immortal  meaning ;  and  so  ""  the  Res- 
urrection and  the  Life." 

But  His  life  has  no  spiritual  power  over  ours, 
unless  it  teaches  us  divine  love  —  unless  we  live 
in  that  love  which  He  came  to  unveil. 

Christians  have  miserably  failed  of  this  —  in 
their  treatment  of  each  other  as  well  as  of  the 
Jews,  but  it  is  because  they  have  not  received  the 
spirit  of  their  Master. 

I  thank  you  sincerely  for  writing  to  me  so 
freely,  and  I  thank  you  for  having  written  the 
poem  enclosed,  which  bears  the  same  message  to 
me  as  a  Christian,  that  it  does  to  you  as  a  Jew.  I 
should  like  to  know  more  of  Emma  Lazarus.  Her 
early  death  was  a  loss  to  all  lovers  of  true  poetry. 
Very  truly  yours, 

Lucy  Laecom. 


262  LUCY    LAECOM. 

Tlie  ecstacy  of  a  sudden  realization  of  religions 
trutli  sometimes  overcame  her  in  the  summer  morn- 
ings, and  her  heart  uttered  itself  fervently  in 
prayer,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  following  extracts 
from  her  diary. 

July  5,  1890.  1  aw^oke  with  a  strange  joy  as  of 
some  new  revelation,  that  seemed  sounding  through 
my  soul,  with  the  w^ords,  ••'  Lift  vip  your  heads,  O 
ye  gates,  and  be  ye  lift  up,  ye  everlasting  doors, 
and  the  King  of  Glory  shall  come  in !  " 

Is  it  a  new  entering  in  of  life  and  love  at  all  the 
doors  of  my  nature  ?  doors  that  I  have  left  closed 
and  overgrowai,  perhaps  ?  Come  in,  O  Life,  O 
Truth,  O  Love,  by  whatever  gate  thou  wilt,  —  in 
whatever  form  thou  wilt !  Only  make  me  ready  to 
receive  thee,  and  to  go  with  thee  through  the  gates 
into  the  freedom  of  thy  universe ! 

August  3.  Now  I  see  life  more  clearly  in  all  its 
bearings,  its  dangers,  and  its  hopes,  —  its  earthly 
and  heavenly  unity.  It  is  almost  like  beginning  a 
new  childhood  in  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  All 
things  centre  themselves  in  Christ,  the  living,  spir- 
itual Christ,  who  is  the  Life,  the  Reality,  the  Per- 
son, wdio  makes  us  real  to  each  other  through  the 
eternal  union  with  the  Father.  Nature  is  alive. 
Nothing  is  dead  that  the  heart  of  God  has  touched. 
And  human  beings  seem  so  near  and  dear  ! 

I  think  of  those  who  have  gone,  of  my  sisters 
Louisa  and  Charlotte,  of  my  mother,  of  all  the 
friends  whom  I  see  no  more,  but  who  have  made 


LAST   YEARS.  263 

part  of  my  true  life.  They  seem  more  alive  than 
when  here ;  my  communion  is  with  them  and  with 
all  the  living-  to-day. 

August  6.  This  morning,  with  the  opening  of 
my  windows  on  the  white  floating  clouds  of  sum- 
mer, and  the  warm  hillside,  softened  with  the  mist 
of  coming  showers,  a  song  and  a  hymn  arose  in  my 
thovio'hts :  — 

O  Thou  Eternal  Loveliness,  —  I  am  part  of 
Thee,  or  I  am  not  at  all !  Nature  is  the  expression 
of  Thee,  but  yet  more  is  this  human  life  of  mine. 
Because  I  am,  and  can  feel  and  see  this  beauty,  — 
feel  it  as  a  part  of  my  own  life  and  soul,  I  know 
that  Thou  art  —  the  Divine  One  in  whom  all  that 
is  immortal  of  me  is  enfolded,  and  from  whom  it 
is  unfolded.  How  can  Thy  being  be  questioned 
by  one  who  has  had  a  single  glimpse  of  the  beauty 
of  this  Thy  world  ?  It  is  such  happiness  to  feel 
that  I  am  part  of  it  all,  because  I  belong  to  Thee ! 
Yet  I  should  never  have  known  the  spirit  of  it  all, 
never  should  have  understood  the  secret,  except 
through  the  Son,  who  has  brought  Thy  children 
back  to  their  spiritual  home  in  Thee.  In  Him  the 
evil  of  earth  is  conquered,  and  the  good  of  earth  is 
shown  also  to  be  the  good  of  heaven.  To  be  of 
one  spirit  with  Him,  the  Perfect  Love  and  the  In- 
finite Loveliness,  is  to  belong  to  the  Whole,  and 
so  to  Thee.  And  so  there  can  be  no  losing  of  any- 
thing for  us  eternally.  Who  shall  separate  us  from 
any  true  Love  ? 

August  24.     On  the  summit  of  Moosilauke. 


264  LUCY    LABCOM. 

Have  been  here  four  or  five  days,  in  cloud  and 
mist  and  rain.  One  bright  sunset,  two  pleasant 
afternoons,  on  the  last  of  which  there  was  the  most 
beautifid  phenomenon  that  we  call  "  the  sun  draw- 
ing water."  I  never  looked  down  upon  the  earth 
through  that  many  tinted  transparency  of  sun  and 
mist  before.  It  was  wide  as  the  whole  West,  and 
the  tints  of  green  upon  the  nearer  hills  were 
brought  out  with  softest  intensity.  It  was  like  an 
open  fan  of  thinnest  gossamer,  wavering  in  all  pos- 
sible hues  between  us  and  the  landscape.  But  the 
sign  was  true.  It  has  rained  steadily  for  three 
days  and  nights. 

August  27.  Monday  and  Tuesday  there  was  a 
fine  sunset  and  smirise,  and  four  travelers  were  up 
here  to  enjoy  it.  But  yesterday  the  mist  and  cloud 
rolled  up  from  the  valley  again,  and  in  the  night 
a  southeast  storm  set  in,  preceded  by  the  same 
sign  in  the  east  that  was  in  the  west  last  Thursday. 
It  is  one  of  the  signs  of  approaching  rain,  —  the 
clearness  with  which  the  summits  and  ranges  are 
outlined  through  the  mist.  They  are  most  dream- 
ily lovely,  so.  I  thought  yesterday  how  much  the 
earth  and  sky  were  alike,  on  these  high  places. 
It  was  hard  to  tell  which  was  mountain  and  which 
was  cloud. 

September  6.  A  week  of  great  beauty  in  cloud- 
scenery,  though  with  little  sunshine.  Most  siigges- 
tive  phases  of  cloud  and  mountain  interblending ; 
I  have  been  out  in  it  everywhere  I  could ;  twice  at 
sunrise,  when  I  was  well  rewarded  by  the  glory  in 


LAST   YEARS.  265 

the  east.  The  days  seem  so  short !  I  was  foolish 
to  bring  books  up  here,  —  and  yet  I  have  found 
them  companionable  now  and  then.  "  God  in  his 
World"  I  have  re-read  —  it  is  a  book  for  the 
heights. 

February  4,  1891.  Boston.  "  In  ray  room  at  the 
Hoffman  House  these  last  two  weeks.  I  could  not 
get  settled  earlier ;  others  were  occupying  it.  But 
I  love  this  room,  because  I  have  lived  so  intensely 
and  deeply  in  it ;  because  I  have  had  revelations  in 
it  of  God  and  his  truth,  of  human  friendship,  of 
the  inmost  meanings  of  life.  The  very  walls  seem 
alive  to  me  sometimes.  Every  place  where  we 
have  met  God,  and  come  to  feel  Him  as  the  reality 
in  all  things,  is  holy  ground. 

One  of  the  pleasant  things  of  the  last  month 
was  my  visit  to  Wheaton  Seminar}^  and  the  meet- 
ing with  Mr.  Brooks  there,  and  hearing  him  speak 
to  the  girls,  making  them  more  happy,  and  helping 
them  much,  as  I  have  to-day  heard.  His  presenta- 
tion of  Christ  as  the  Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life, 
has  led  one,  at  least,  to  a  decision  for  herself,  that 
Christ  is  the  Son  of  God.  I  like  to  meet  new 
friends  in  my  old  haunts.  I  have  lived  through 
some  painful  and  some  delightful  experiences  at 
Norton,  struggling  and  groping  in  solitude  through 
formal  dogma  and  doctrine  into  spiritual  truth, 
for  there  was  none  with  me,  and  my  way  of  think- 
ing was  accounted  heresy.  But  I  felt  beckoned 
into  clearer  light  than  there  was  around  me,  and  I 
followed  in  silence.     I  first    read  Maurice   there, 


2G6  LUCY  LABCOM. 

and  F.  W.  Robertson,  who  opened  doors  for  me 
which  have  never  since  been  closed.  And  I  taught 
my  pupils,  giving  them  what  I  had  received,  truths 
which  I  felt  were  unquestionable,  and  I  knew, 
while  there,  that  it  was  not  wholly  in  vain,  though 
I  had  access  to  but  a  few.  Now  I  go  back,  and 
I  find  the  whole  school  apparently  ready  for  this 
clearer  spiritual  light,  and  I  am  glad.  We  must 
love  places  where  we  have  truly  lived,  —  even  in 
heaven  we  shall  remember  them. 

I  finished  my  little  book  last  week,  —  "  As  It  Is 
in  Heaven."  I  wonder  if  it  was  presumptuous  in 
me  to  write  it?  But  it  seemed  to  grow  by  itself,  and 
I  wanted  to  give  the  blossoms  and  fruit  that  had 
shaped  themselves  in  my  mind,  to  those  who  might 
enjoy  them,  and  perhaps  get  some  refreshment  and 
strength  from  them.  I  trust  it  will  be  of  service 
to  somebody. 

April  3.  Lent  has  passed,  and  Passion  Week, 
and  Easter.  All  these  festivals  now  mean  so  much 
to  me,  and  yet  not  wholly  for  themselves,  but  be- 
cause they  make  the  whole  year  sacred.  I  have 
attended  all  the  morning  services,  and  have  found 
it  good  to  begin  the  days  with  that  half-hour  of 
prayer  and  thought,  and  communion  with  others. 
Once  I  should  have  thought  this  frequent  assem- 
bling together  day  after  day,  and  week  after  week, 
for  religious  services,  at  least  unnecessary.  But 
for  the  deepening  life  that  has  come  to  me  through 
them  I  can  never  be  sufficiently  thankful,  and  I 
feel  that  the  Church  holds  through  them  a  special 


LAST   YEARS.  267 

power  over  tlie  spiritual  life  of  the  community.  For 
tlie  last  weeks  of  winter  and  first  weeks  of  spring, 
everybody  is  reminded  that  this  life  of  ours  belongs 
to  us  throuo-h  the  life  and  death  of  Christ  our 
Lord.  We  are  always  forgetting  that,  —  always 
falling  back  into  ourselves  and  our  own  petty  in- 
terests and  plans  and  thoughts  of  and  for  our- 
selves. 

I  cannot  see  why  Churches  of  every  name  should 
not  keep  Lent  and  Good  Friday  and  Easter,  as 
they  do  Christmas,  and  I  believe  they  are  moving 
in  that  direction. 

I  was  present  at  the  Good  Friday  evening  ser- 
vice at  the  Old  South,  presided  over  by  its  pastor, 
Eev.  Mr.  Gordon,  where  a  Baptist,  a  Unitarian,  a 
Congregationalist,  and  three  Episcopal  clergymen 
took  part.  It  was  most  impressive,  and  seemed 
like  a  pi'omise  of  the  time  when  all  Christ's  people 
shall  be  one.  The  Good  Friday  sermon  at  Trinity 
Church  in  the  morning  was  to  me  a  new  unfolding 
of  a  thought  that  has  always  perplexed  me,  from 
the  text,  "  The  blood  of  Christ  cleanseth  from  all 
sin."  I  could  never  make  the  "  Atonement,"  as 
set  forth  by  the  religious  teachers  of  my  youth,  a 
reality  to  myself ;  Christ  Himself  was  always  real, 
as  a  divine  man,  and  as  a  living  presence  with  us 
still,  but  how  His  death  was  to  us  more  than 
His  Life,  I  could  never  see.  The  grandeur  of  it 
all,  —  the  love  that  inspired  the  sacrifice,  always 
moved  my  being  to  its  depths,  but  the  prominence 
given  to  His  "  Blood-shedding  "  seemed  unnatural. 


268  LUCY  LABCOM. 

It  was  tragic  ;  pictorial ;  yet  somehow  outside  of 
me  —  a  scene  upon  which  I  gazed,  and  wondered, 
and  longed  to  understand. 

I  cannot  recall  the  words  of  Mr.  Brooks's  sermon, 
but  the  feeling  and  the  thought  left  with  me  from 
it  was  that  now  I  could  see  it  all ;  and  that  through 
that  completed  sacrifice,  the  divine  life  entered 
into  every  human  soul  that  could  open  to  receive 
it.  And  it  is  the  very  thought  of  the  blood,  which 
represents,  and  is,  the  life,  that  made  it  clear. 

He  gives  all  of  himself  that  He  has  to  give,  in 
first  living  for  us,  and  then  dying  for  us.~  And  the 
giving  means  our  receiving  His  pure  life  into  our 
stained  souls,  so  that  their  defilement  is  cleansed, 
and  we  live  His  life  of  love  and  sacrifice,  instead 
of  our  old  selfish  and  sinful  one.  It  is  now  His 
blood  that  flows  through  ns,  and  inspires  us  with 
eternal  strength.  And  this  is  what  it  means  to 
be  His,  and  one  with  Him ;  the  character,  the  per- 
son, must  be  renewed,  when  filled  with  his  j)urity, 
with  his  righteousness,  and  his  consecration.  Any 
other  view  of  the  atonement  than  this  seems  to  me 
still  to  be  something  of  a  fiction.  But  this  view 
is  so  insj)iring  to  me,  that  the  cross  has  a  new 
meaning,  —  it  is  the  true  and  only  emblem  of 
Christ's  work  to  hold  up  before  the  world. 

May  17.  Mr.  Brooks's  election  as  bishop  has 
followed  almost  as  the  natural  sequence  to  Bishop 
Paddock's  death,  and  it  has  seemed  to  be  de- 
manded quite  as  much  by  the  community  at  large 
as  by  the  church.     The  feeling  has  been,  that  if 


LAST   YEARS.  269 

there  is  a  place  of  higlier  influence  for  such  a  man, 
he  nuist  be  put  in  it.  I  have  not  been  accustomed 
to  think  that  there  can  be  any  higher  place  than 
that  of  a  Christian  minister,  but  he  will  not  cease 
to  be  this.  But  for  me  it  is  like  the  closing  of  a 
beautiful  book  of  insj)iration,  from  which  I  have 
been  reading  for  the  past  ten  years,  almost  con- 
stantly of  late ;  and  before  the  bishop's  death,  I 
have  felt  that  it  was  more  than  any  one  congrega- 
tion oufjht  to  have  to  itself,  and  God  will  broaden 
the  stream  of  the  water  of  Life  now  into  more  far- 
reaching  channels.  The  change  has  brought  great 
sadness,  but  our  best  is  given  us  to  share,  and  we 
shall  find  joy  even  in  this  sacrifice. 

May  1.  At  Beverly,  —  and  tired  with  my  spring 
languor,  and  some  inward  depression.  Yesterday  I 
talked  with  Mr.  Brooks  about  the  change  that  is 
coming,  and  though  I  believe  it  best  and  needful 
for  him,  still  I  feel  in  it  an  unutterable  sadness. 
It  is  strange  that  I  do,  for  I  never  expect  to  see  him 
often,  or  to  hear  him  preach  except  for  a  few  weeks 
in  the  winter.  But  I  suppose  we  have  all  had  the  sat- 
isfaction of  knowing  that  the  fountain  was  flowing 
and  that  we  might  drink  if  we  would.  And  what 
have  I  not  received  at  this  source  ?  What  a  differ- 
ent world  it  is  to  me,  from  what  it  was  ten  years 
ago.  How  I  have  become  strengthened  through 
and  through,  to  see  and  know  what  spiritual  life  is, 
and  in  my  measure  to  live  it,  as  T  believe !  Soul 
and  eyes  and  heart  and  hands  and  feet  have  been 
given  to  me  anew,  through  the  illumination  received. 


270  LUCY  LARCOM. 

That  strange  "light  in  light"  that  seemed  to 
glow  around  nie,  as  I  knelt  in  reconsecration  oi 
myself,  a  little  more  than  a  jear  ago,  has  not  left 
me,  though  it  is  dimmed  by  this  jn-esent  regret, 
and  I  shall  walk  on  in  it  through  paths  yet  untried. 

Yesterday  I  sat  in  the  same  room  and  the  same 
chair  where,  eight  years  ago,  Mr.  Brooks  first  sug- 
gested that  my  place  might  be  in  the  Episcopal 
Church.  I  had  not  thought  it  possible,  and  did  not 
see  it  so  then.  To  be  sitting  there  in  his  study, 
where  I  had  not  been  again  since  that  first  talk 
with  him,  as  one  of  his  people,  and  to  hear  him 
speak  of  the  strangeness  to  him  of  his  own  new 
outlook  upon  life  and  work,  —  of  the  suddenness 
with  which  the  change  has  come  to  him :  "  First  it 
seemed  impossible,  and  then  it  became  inevitable,'' 
he  said,  —  brought  back  that  other  day  and  all  the 
time  between,  and  my  own  experience  in  being 
lifted  out  of  my  old  associations  into  the  Church, 
—  for  it  seems  to  me  that  unseen  hands  at  last 
lifted  me  into  my  place. 

Well  might  he  speak  of  that  room  as  a  sacred 
room,  where  so  many  souls  had  been  strengthened 
and  led  on  into  light.  I  wish  he  need  not  leave 
his  house  when  he  becomes  bishop  ;  it  is  so  truly 
identified  with  his  life.  Our  place  is  partly  ourself . 
I  am  sure  he  needs  a  change,  after  so  many  years 
of  incessant  service,  doing  the  work  of  twenty  men, 
apparently.  He  will  still  have  hard  work  to  do, 
but  it  will  not  be  of  the  same  kind. 

I  do  believe  that  the  hand  of  God  is  in  his  elec- 


LAST  YEABS.  271 

tion  as  bishop.  It  is  not  so  much  the  Episcopal 
Church  (much  as  he  loves  it,  and  believes  in  it) 
that  is  to  be  benefited:  the  whole  church — the 
whole  community  —  will  feel  the  difference  in  the 
freedom  and  depth  of  spiritual  life  that  can  but 
radiate  from  such  a  man,  wherever  he  goes.  I  do 
want  to  live  at  least  ten  years  longer,  to  have  a 
part  in  the  good  time. 

Mr.  Whittier  writes  to  me :  "  The  very  air  of 
Massachusetts  is  freer  and  sweeter,  since  his  elec- 
tion," and  these  are  the  words  of  a  seer. 

And  still  it  is  a  haunting  regret  that  I  shall  no 
longer  hear  his  words  in  the  old  familiar  way,  at 
Trinity  Church. 

TO  MRS.  S.  I.  SPALDING. 

Beverly,  Mass.,  June  3,  1891. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  I  do  not  think  the  weather 
would  have  kept  me  here  quite,  last  week,  but  I 
also  have  had  to  call  myself  half-sick.  I  think  it 
must  be  the  "grippe"  or  the  effect  of  some  subtle 
seizure  of  that  fiend,  for  I  am  unaccountably  good- 
for-nothing,  in  many  ways.  I  had  to  lie  still  all 
last  Sunday.  I  must  go  to  Boston  next  Sunday, 
for  it  is  the  Communion  Service,  which  has  become 
very  dear  to  me,  and  more  so  noiv. 

Perhaps  I  will  try  again  this  week  coming  to 
you  on  Friday  and  going  to  Amesbury  on  Saturday 
for  a  call ;  thence  to  Boston.  If  you  should  bear 
that  Mr.  Whittier  had  gone  to  Portland  (he  is  ex- 
pected there  next  week)  perhaps  you  will  let  me 
know  by  Friday  morning. 


272  LUCY    LABCOM. 

I  should  prefer  coming-  to  see  you  when  I  could 
stay  over  Sunday.  But  while  Mr.  Brooks  preaches 
I  want  to  improve  every  chance  of  hearing-  him. 
I  thought  he  would  not  be  permitted  to  leave  Trin- 
ity Church  —  I  believe  that  he  was  himself  surprised 
at  liis  own  nomination.  But  he  would  have  fallen 
in  the  harness  there  :  no  man  could  ({o  forever  the 
superhuman  work  he  was  doing,  and  the  collapse 
might  have  been  sudden.  I  have  seen  him  within 
a  week  or  two,  and  he  looks  at  the  new  work  with 
all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  boy.  The  change  may  pro- 
long his  strength  and  usefulness ;  for  nothing  but 
change  of  work  would  be  rest  to  him. 

The  little  side  of  Episcopacy  is  making  itself 
manifest,  as  it  must,  when  so  great  a  man  is  brought 
into  contrast  with  mere  systematizers,  petty  plan- 
ners of  the  Kingdom  which  is  infinite,  so  infinite 
that  it  absorbs  them,  as  the  atmosphere  does  motes 
and  insects. 

Yours  with  love, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

September  13,  1891.  Summit  of  Moosilauke. 
I  have  been  here  three  weeks  yesterday,  with  rainy 
or  cloudy  weather  most  of  the  time,  and  a  few 
days  of  perfect  beauty.  It  has  been  warm  weather, 
never  cold  enough  for  winter  clothing,  but  heavy 
and  damp  sometimes.  In  every  bright  interval 
I  have  been  out,  half  a  dozen  times  out  in  the 
sunrise  alone  (one  of  the  best  things  up  here). 
The  sunrises  in  which  the  sun  was  not  visible  were 


LAST   YEARS.  273 

loveliest ;  when  the  rays  reached  across  from  under 
a  cloud,  and  over  the  lower  mists,  to  the  distant 
mountains  in  the  south,  penciling  them  with  soft 
rose  and  pearl  tints.  The  finest  sunrise  was  when 
the  sunbeams  shone  down  from  under  a  dark  pui-- 
ple  cloud  on  a  foamy  sea  of  white  mist  that  covered 
the  landscape,  touching  its  upper  surface  with  the 
splendor  we  usually  see  from  below.  There  was  a 
sunset  the  night  before,  with  a  similar  effect,  just 
as  a  storm  was  rolling  away.  There  has  been  less 
variety  in  the  phases  of  cloud-beauty  than  usual. 

Yesterday  was  my  best  day  of   all.     I  walked 
over  to  the  East  Peak,  and  looked  down  into  the 
great  ravine,  where  the  shadow  of  our  mountain 
was  slowly   ascending   the    opposite    slopes.     The 
higher  peaks  behind  shone  in  soft  purple  through 
the  rosy  mist,  and  as  I  stopped  at  a  crest  half-way 
to  the  Peak,  they  grew  so  beautiful  in  their  lone- 
liness, uplifted    from    sombre  depths  to   luminous 
height,  and  brought  to  my  thoughts  such  heavenly- 
human  associations,  of  the  great  ones  known  and 
unknown,  who  have  glorified  my  life  and  uplifted 
it  into  spiritual  splendor,  that  my  eyes  were  again 
and   again    filled   with   warm,   happy  tears.     God 
has  been  very  good  to  me  in  these  latter  years,  in 
bringing  me  to  the  mountains  and  giving  me  friends. 
It  is  the  utter  loneliness  that  I  sometimes  have  with 
nature,  up  here,  that  makes  the  place  so  delightful 
to  me.     The  people  are  only  incidental ;  only  now 
and  then  one  who  loves  the  mountains  in  my  way, 
or  in  a  better  way,  gives  them  a  new  attraction. 


274  LUCY  LAIWOM. 

The  mountains  are  more  human  to  me  than  any 
other  exhibition  of  inorganic  nature  ;  they  are  in- 
deed jDresences.  There  must  be  something  like 
them  in  heaven. 

I  go  down  to-morrow,  to  hotel-life  for  a  week  or 
so,  but  the  peace  and  strength  of  the  hills  will  re- 
main in  my  heart. 

Beverly,  October  17,  1891.  These  last  three 
weeks,  —  these  last  three  days,  especially,  —  have 
been  so  full !  I  have  lived  more  in  them,  in  the 
very  deepest  part  of  my  life,  than  in  as  many  years, 
often. 

The  consecration  of  a  bishop  whose  ministry 
has  been  more  to  my  spiritual  life  than  that  of  any 
other  minister ;  the  joy  of  knowing  liim  as  a  friend ; 
the  sorrow  of  losing  him  as  a  minister ;  the  thank- 
fulness that  I  may  be  counted  in  as  one  of  his  peo- 
ple still,  to  work  in  his  larger  field  with  him  ;  the 
certainty  that  God  has  called  him  to  do  more  than 
ever  for  the  coming  of  His  Kingdom :  it  is  a  great 
flood  of  regret  and  triumph  that  has  been  flowing 
through  me,  and  that  fills  me  still.  I  am  full  of 
tears  and  song  ;  I  never  felt  life  so  real  and  so  deep. 
It  is  like  setting  sail  on  the  grandest  voyage  of 
hope,  with  a  chosen  spirit  of  God  at  the  helm,  and 
all  of  us  f idl  of  the  inspiration  of  his  life  and  faith. 

I  was  glad  to  sit  a  little  aside  at  the  Consecration 
Service,  and  feel  more  than  I  could  see,  though  I 
saw  all  the  best  of  it,  —  that  grand  manhood  in  the 
midst  of  white-robed  clergy  and  bishops,  one  with 
it  all,  and  yet  so  superior  to  it  all,  the  great  humble 


LAST  YEjLRS.  275 

man,  bowed  among  liis  brethren,  to  receive  his  new- 
office  !  And  I  shall  never  forget  my  first  glimpse 
of  him  in  his  new  character,  with  the  Communion 
cup  in  his  hand,  a  token  of  service  yet  to  be  ren- 
dered ;  Christ's  life  still  to  be  poured  out  for  his 
brethren  through  his  own. 

So  may  our  lives  all  be  enlarged  and  strength- 
ened with  his,  to  serve  our  Master  better,  in  a 
wider  and  deeper  service  of  humankind ! 

TO  J.  G.  WHITTIER. 

Bevekly,  February  24,  1892. 

.  .  .  The  thought  of  a  present  God,  who  is  a 
personal  Friend  to  every  Soul,  has  always  haunted 
me,  and  of  late  years  has  become  more  real  and 
close.  It  seems  to  me  that  all  truth  and  peace  and 
hope  centre  there.  It  gives  new  meaning  to  immor- 
tality, and  to  this  life  as  the  beginning  of  an  im- 
mortal one.  Every  year  it  seems  a  happier  thing 
to  be  alive,  and  to  know  that  I  cannot  die. 

Through  thee,  my  friend,  I  have  come  to  see  this 
very  slowly.  I  have  always  thought  of  thee  as  a 
spiritual  teacher.  And  then  of  late  years  to  have 
had  in  addition  the  teachings  and  friendship  of 
Phillips  Brooks  has  been  a  great  and  true  help.  I 
thank  God  that  you  two  men  live,  and  "will  always 
live,"  as  he  says  to  you,  and  that  I  have  known 
you  both. 

When  he  called  at  Mrs.  Spalding's  after  seeing 
you,  he  told  us  about  the  Ary  Scheffer  poem,  and 
repeated   it   to   us  from   the  words   "  O  heart  of 


2T6  LUCY  LARCOM. 

mine,"  through  to  the  end,  as  he  went  away,  stand- 
ing before  the  picture,  —  "  Christus  Consolator," 
which  hangs  at  her  parlor  door.  .  .  . 

TO    THE    SAME. 

Beverly,  Mass.,  July  10,  1892. 

My  dear  Friend,  —  I  heard  of  you  last  in 
Danvers,  but  I  am  not  sure  whether  you  are  there 
or  not,  though  I  have  been  trying  to  get  around 
and  see  !  I  have  been  occupied  with  various  mat- 
ters which  have  taken  me  to  Boston  frequently, 
and  I  have  usually  stayed  with  Mrs.  Guild,  Rox- 
bury. 

...  I  do  not  find  myself  so  strong  as  usual  this 
year,  and  my  plans  for  work  may  all  fall  through. 
I  think  I  never  had  so  much  that  I  wanted  to  do, 
before.  My  last  two  little  books  have  been  so 
widely  and  warmly  welcomed,  that  it  seems  to  me 
as  if  I  had  only  just  learned  what  I  can  do.  If  I 
had  begun  to  write  from  what  I  feel  most  deeply 
twenty  years  ago,  I  might  have  been  of  some  real 
help  to  the  world.  But  then  I  had  not  had  the 
experience,  and  perhaps  could  not. 

It  makes  me  very  thankful  to  know  that  you 
approve  my  work.  We  have  so  often  talked  over 
these  matters  together.  I  think  the  inspiration 
must  be  partly,  at  least,  from  you.  I  know  tliat 
my  one  desire  is  for  reality  in  the  spiritual  life, 
for  self  and  for  others.   .  .  . 

Beverly,  October  16,  1892.     This  summer  has 


LAST   YEARS.  277 

brought  me  little  time  for  writing,  but  much  for 
suffering  aucl  thinking.  Three  months  ago  to-day 
my  dear  sister  Emeline  left  this  world  ;  suddenly, 
—  quietly, — just  "slipped  away,"  her  daughter 
Lucy  says.  She  made  herself  ready  for  church, 
and  sat  waiting,  —  but  it  was  heaven  for  her,  in- 
stead. Her  going  makes  more  difference  to  me 
than  the  departure  of  any  one  else  could  ;  for  she 
has  been  part  of  my  life  ever  since  I  was  born. 
She  did  more  to  shape  my  mind  —  my  soul  —  than 
any  one  else  did.  And  yet  I  differed  from  her  in 
my  way  of  thinking,  upon  many  things  ;  the  deep 
agreement  was  underneath,  at  the  spiritual  founda- 
tions. I  think  her  great  power  over  me  was  in 
her  great  capacity  for  love.  Her  great  heart,  while 
it  was  faithful  to  home  ties,  failed  of  love  to  none 
of  God's  children  ;  and  to  me  she  was  even  more 
mother  than  sister.  Her  going  makes  it  an  easier 
thing  for  me  to  go,  when  the  time  comes. 

Then,  while  on  Moosilauke  summit,  the  news  of 
Mr.  Whittier's  death  came  to  me  —  more  transla- 
tion than  death.  I  seemed  to  see  him  pass  on  by 
me,  up  the  heights,  and  seemed  to  hear  him  say,  as 
he  passed,  "  So  easy  a  thing  it  is  to  die  !  Like  the 
mountain  blending  with  the  clouds,  like  the  melt- 
ing of  earth  into  sky,  is  the  transition  from  life 
into  loftier  life."  Pie  too  passed  away  in  peace ; 
the  lovelier  to  think  of,  because  he  had  always 
dreaded  the  hour  of  death.  He,  too,  was  my  noble 
and  tried  friend  ;  in  my  life  for  more  than  fifty 
years.     He  is  associated  in  my  life  with  the  beauty 


278  LUCY  LAECOM. 

of  the  hills  and  the  sea  that  we  have  enjoyed  to. 
g-ether,  with  the  deep  things  of  poetry  and  religion, 
which  were  indeed  one  reality  to  him.  The  mem- 
ory of  fireside  talks  in  his  own  home,  with  his 
sister,  so  dear  to  us  both ;  the  readings  of  "  In 
Memoriam  "  with  him  after  she  was  gone,  —  are 
most  blessedly  vivid  to  me. 

And  Tennyson  has  died,  within  a  week !  One 
could  know  him  only  through  his  poetry,  but  what 
a  halo  that  has  hung  over  our  mortal  life  in  all  its 
phases !  To  know  the  man  and  the  poet,  as  I 
knew  Whittier,  and  to  be  able  to  feel  the  greatness 
of  both,  is  an  immortal  possession. 

Emerson,  Browning,  Bryant,  Whittier,  Tenny- 
son, —  and  where  are  the  singers  who  take  us  into 
the  heart  of  things  as  they  did  ?  There  is  a  deli- 
cate murmur  of  trained  voices  making  music  in 
this  modern  air,  but  it  does  not  arrest  us  and  hold 
us,  as  the  voices  of  the  now  silent  masters  did.  It 
is  hardly  an  age  of  song. 

TO  MBS.  S.  T.  PICKARD. 

Beverly,  October  16,  1892. 
...  I  have  dreamed  of  him  [Mr.Whittier]  lately, 
sitting  by  the  fireside  chatting  in  the  old  way,  as 
when  I  used  to  visit  him  and  Aunt  Lizzie.  She 
was  more  to  me  than  almost  any  friend,  more  even 
than  he.  I  always  thought  of  them  as  one  ;  and 
now  they  are  together  again.  They  cannot  be  far 
away.  I  want  to  keep  near  them  in  spirit,  so  as 
to  find  them  at  once,  by  and  by.     I  am  glad  I  did 


LAST   YEARS.  279 

not  ever  know  that  lie  was  rich.  He  used  to  want 
to  pay  my  bills  when  we  were  at  West  Ossipee,  etc., 
but  I  declined,  for  I  supposed  he  was  almost  as 
poor  as  myself,  though  I  know  of  late  years  his 
books  have  paid  well.  I  am  very  glad  he  left  me 
the  copyright  of  the  books  I  compiled  with  him ; 
and  indeed  it  was  only  right,  as  I  worked  so  hard 
on  them.  The  "  Songs  of  Tln-ee  Centuries  "  nearly 
cost  me  my  health ;  the  publishers  "  rushed  "  it  so. 
I  was  good  for  nothing  for  three  or  four  years 
after,  as  far  as  writing  went.     But  he  never  knew. 

TO  S.  T.  PICKARD. 

Beverly,  Mass.,  November  11,  1892. 

Dear  Mr.  Pickard,  —  The  trouble  with  me 
now  is  that  I  am  on  the  Invalid  list,  and  am  warned 
not  to  promise  or  undertake  any  new  work  at  pres- 
ent, nor  to  work  continuously  in  the  future,  as  I 
have  done.  The  heart  seems  to  be  the  weak  mem- 
ber, and  really  stops  me,  even  upon  slight  exertion. 
I  have  meant  to  look  over  my  letters  from  our 
friend,  and  see  if  there  was  anything  you  could  use  ; 
but  they  are  packed  away  with  others  in  a  cold 
room,  where  I  do  not  venture  to  go.  I  have  not 
left  the  house  for  nearly  four  weeks,  now,  and  I  see 
that  some  revolution  in  my  way  of  living  must  be 
made.  But  I  hope  to  be  stronger  some  time  than  I 
am  now,  —  at  least  to  the  extent  of  getting  out  into 
the  air.  I  am  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  say  that  I 
can  be  depended  upon,  though  I  v/ill  gladly  do 
what  I  can  to  help  you. 


280  LUCY    LARCOM. 

It  is  unfortunate  for  me  to  be  hindered  by  the 
state  of  my  health,  as  I  had  plans  I  wanted  to  set 
about  at  once,  of  my  own.  It  is  imperative  for  me 
to  be  earning  money  regularly,  for  an  income,  as 
I  have  never  quite  accumulated  it  into  the  thou- 
sands. My  recent  little  books,  for  the  past  four 
years,  have  been  more  profitable  than  before,  and 
I  can  see  one  or  two  more  as  possibilities,  if  I  could 
put  myself  down  to  the  work.  I  mention  all  this 
to  show  you  how  I  am  situated,  as  to  doing  what 
you  suggest. 

Then  there  is  one  other  thing,  —  Mr.  Whittier 
many  times  said  to  me,  apparently  in  earnest  and 
jest,  both,  — "  Don't  thee  ever  go  writing  about 
me  !  "  It  used  to  hurt  me  a  little,  as  if  I  would 
parade  his  friendship  for  me  in  any  way !  I  could 
not  do,  after  he  died,  what  I  would  not  when  he 
was  alive,  —  unless  I  knew  he  was  willing,  —  and 
he  never  hinted  any  wish  of  the  kind,  certainly. 
I  have  already  been  asked  to  furnish  "  Recollec- 
tions "  for  two  periodicals,  and  have  declined.  I 
may  be  over-particular  in  this  matter,  but  I  do 
feel  a  delicacy  about  it,  —  ahnost  as  if  I  had  not 
the  right. 

I  write  just  as  the  matter  looks  to  me  now,  and 
with  the  sincerest  wish  to  honor  our  dear  friend's 
memory.     Tell  me  your  view  of  it ! 
Yours  sincerely, 

Lucy  Larcom. 


LAST   YEARS.  281 


TO  FRANKLIN  CARTER. 

214  Columbus  Avenue,  Boston, 
January  10,  1893. 


Dear  Frank,  —  I  have  just  finished  reading 
the  life  of  Dr.  Mark  Hopkins,  and  think  it  a  most 
interesting  record  of  a  grand  life.  I  thank  you  for 
sending  it  to  me.  I  could  not  help  thinking,  as 
I  read,  how  full  our  country  is  of  noble  men  of 
whom  we  know  nothing,  or  very  little,  I  knew 
Dr.  Hopkins  was  an  able  man,  but  he  was  only  a 
name  to  me  until  I  read  your  book.  But  of  course 
he  was  a  very  unusual  man.  How  grateful  and 
glad  you  must  be  that  he  was  your  teacher,  and 
that  you  could  tell  his  story  so  well !  I  have 
known  little  of  you,  and  you  of  me,  for  several 
years.  I  have  felt  that  the  years  of  work  could 
not  be  many  for  me,  and  so  I  have  been  hard  at 
work  writing,  that  I  might  give  something  to  those 
who  could  receive  from  me,  before  I  died. 

I  do  not  know  whether  you  have  seen  my  little 
books  or  not.  I  have  published  three  in  the  last 
two  years.  The  two  prose  books  I  thought  I  had 
a  call  to  write,  and  the  response  they  have  received 
has  shown  that  I  was  not  wholly  wrong. 

Perhaps  I  have  given  myself  too  closely  to  writ- 
ing, for  I  am  far  from  well.  Careful  medical  ex- 
amination shows  that  I  have  organic  heart-disease, 
which  will  need  to  be  watched  carefully  in  the 
future ;  I  shall  have  to  go  slowly  hereafter.  Yet  I 
have  many  plans  that  1  want  to  carry  out ;  and  it  is 


282  LUCY  LARCOM. 

as  necessary  now  as  ever  for  me  to  earn  my  daily 
bread.  But  I  am  not  in  the  least  bit  anxious. 
The  kind  of  writing-  I  do,  does  not  bring  much 
money,  and  I  am  not  desirous  of  writing  the  kind 
that  does. 

These  later  years  have  been  happy  ones  to  me, 
because  I  have  been  doing  things  I  like  to  do,  and 
have  had  noble  and  sympathetic  friends.  One  of 
my  best  friends  —  Whittier  —  is  out  of  sight  now, 
but  I  do  not  feel  that  he  is  far  away.  Life  is  one, 
in  all  the  worlds,  and  it  is  life  in  God  that  unites 
us  all.  God  in  Christ  is  the  great  uniting  reality 
to  me.  And  yet  I  live  so  far  from  my  ideal  of  what 
it  is  !  How  much  more  we  should  all  be  to  each 
other,  if  we  believed  it,  through  and  through !  — 

I  cannot  write,  or  do  anything  continuously, 
without  pain  in  my  chest,  so  I  desist,  with  love  to 
you  and  yours. 

Faithfully  ever, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

TO  MISS  FOBES. 

EoxBURV,  Mass.,  March  14,  1893. 
My  dear  Miss  Fobes,  —  I  did  not  think  it 
would  be  SO  long  before  your  kind  letters  would  be 
acknowledged,  but  the  truth  is  that  even  a  little 
book,  if  one's  heart  is  in  the  writing  of  it,  is  very 
absorbing,  —  and  mine  has  taken  all  my  time.  I 
am  reading  the  proof  sheets  of  it  now,  and  it  will 
be  out  early  in  April.  (I  am  visiting  a  friend 
here,  for  a  week,  trying  to  rest  a  rather  tired  head.) 


LAST    YEARS.  283 

These  little  books  I  liave  somehow  been  impelled 
to  write,  from  the  feeling  that  others  might  be 
helped,  by  seeing  the  way  I  had  been  led,  and  the 
point  at  which  I  had  arrived.  For  I  can  but  think 
of  these  later  years  as  having  been  most  plainly  to 
myself  under  spiritual  guidance.  I  prayed  for  it 
always.  I  remember  walking  alone  in  the  woods 
behind  Monticello  Seminary,  my  heart  asking  with 
tears  that  I  might  suffer  much,  if  so  I  could  find 
the  true  secret  of  life.  I  have  not  suffered  as 
many  have,  —  I  have  only  had  ordinary  trials  and 
losses  and  matter-of-fact  struggles  with  circum- 
stances, but  I  have  often  been  in  danger  of  suc- 
cumbing to  lower  standards  than  I  believed  in. 
But  it  has  been  the  one  effort  of  my  life  to  keep  in 
sight  the  highest  and  best,  and  to  be  satisfied  with 
nothing  less. 

Now  the  best  seems  to  me  the  simplest :  —  to 
receive,  and  to  give  by  living  it,  the  life  of  Christ. 
That  is  the  thought  I  have  kept  before  me  in  my 
little  book,  which  I  call  "-The  Unseen  Friend."  I 
shall  send  you  a  cojDy,  as  soon  as  possible. 

I  am  much  interested  in  what  you  write  of  the 
word  "eternal."  It  was  on  the  meaning  of  that 
word  that  my  first  divergence  from  the  Calvinistic 
theories  occurred,  many  years  ago.  I  read  F.  D. 
Maurice  much,  and  still  do  so.  His  rendering  of 
the  word  "  eternal "  was,  you  know,  considered 
heresy  in  his  own  church.  Now,  the  exception  is, 
in  this  region,  to  hear  it  preached  in  any  other 
sense.     I  think  it  first  implies  the  character  of  the 


284  LUCY    LABCOM. 

life,  but  also  its  duration.  It  is  only  the  real 
that  can  last,  and  grow  better  and  better  forever, 
as  being  a  progress  into  the  infinite  life  of  God. 
It  is  death  to  refuse  to  receive  this  life  ;  I  cannot 
think  that  any  soul  will  forever  refuse,  though  the 
freedom  of  the  human  will  makes  it  a  possibility. 

I  look  upon  this  life  on  eartb  as  but  a  beginning, 
rather  an  education  than  a  probation  —  and  yet 
that  also,  as  every  hour  of  our  life  is  a  trial  of  our 
fitness  for  the  next  hour.  One  thing  I  have  liked 
in  the  Episcopal  Church  since  I  knew  it  and  have 
been  in  it,  is  that  they  preach  this  practical,  spirit- 
ual life  so  much  more  than  systems  and  doctrines. 
The  Christian  year  is  a  repeated  following  of  the 
story  and  the  spirit  of  Christ's  life,  and  everybody 
can  understand  it.  Nobody  can  hold  the  Apostles 
Creed,  and  not  believe  in  the  oneness  of  the  Son 
and  Father,  and  that  is  the  pivotal  truth  of  Chris- 
tianity. More  and  more  I  see  the  failures  in  my 
past  life,  through  not  entering  into  this  central 
truth  in  a  more  living  way. 

I  thank  you  for  the  kind  things  you  say  of  my 
poems  and  books.  There  is  no  one  whose  approval 
I  value  more  deeply.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  had 
more  years  before  me,  for  I  feel  as  if  I  were  just 
beginning  to  see  clearly,  and  I  am  more  and  more 
interested  in  this  human  life  of  ours.  Yet  how 
little  any  of  us  can  do  to  relieve  its  burdens.  How 
hopeless  its  evils  and  sins  sometime  look ! 

I  have  just  read  "  David  Grieve."  It  is  far 
from   being  a  cheerful   book,   though   powerfully 


LAST   YEARS.  285 

written.  It  is,  however,  an  improvement  upon 
"Robert  Elsmere,"  which  seemed  to  me  wordily 
weak. 

I  have  seen  Emily  Dickinson's  poems,  and  enjoy 
their  queer  gleaming  and  shadowy  incoherences. 
It  does  not  seem  as  if  her  mind  could  have  been 
fairly  balanced.  But  her  love  of  nature  redeems 
many  faults. 

That  poem  in  the  "  Christian  Union,"  "  The  Im- 
mortal Now,"  must  have  been  printed  early  in  the 
year  1890,  I  think.  Possibly  in  1889,  but  I  be- 
lieve I  wrote  it  in  the  winter  of  1889-90.  If  I 
can  find  a  duplicate,  I  will  send  it  to  you.  I  have 
a  half-project  of  collecting  my  religious  poems  by 
themselves,  for  next  Christmas.  What  would  you 
think  of  it? 

Always  affectionately  yours, 

Lucy  Larcom. 

The  following  letter  was  written  to  Bishop 
Brooks  a  few  days  before  his  death,  and  was  found 
on  his  desk,  while  his  body  still  lay  in  his  home, 
the  soul  having  gone  to  be  "  near  the  Master  and 
Friend." 

TO    PHILLIPS    BROOKS. 

214  Columbus  Avenue, 
January  17,  1893. 

It  is  a  real  trial  to  me,  my  dear  friend,  that  I 
am  unable  to  hear  you  to-night,  when  you  are  prob- 
ably speaking  so  near  me ;  and  yet  a  greater  to 
think  that  I  may  be  denied   it  all  winter.     For  I 


28G  LUCY  LARCOM. 

find  myself  more  ill  tlian  I  supposed  I  was,  and  am 
not  at  present  permitted  to  go  out  at  all.  It  is  a 
heart  derangement,  which  has  shown  some  danger- 
ous symptoms.  I  have  been  to  Trinity  Church,  but 
am  told  that  I  must  not  attempt  walking  there 
again.  It  seems  childish  to  tell  you  about  it,  but 
you  know  you  are  my  rector  still,  —  and  I  had 
been  looking  forward  to  seeing  and  hearing  you  oc- 
casionally. 

Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  God's  way  of 
dealing  with  me  is  not  to  let  me  see  much  of  my 
friends,  those  who  are  most  to  me  in  the  spiritual 
life,  lest  I  should  forget  that  the  invisible  bond  is 
the  only  reality.  That  is  the  only  way  I  can  recon- 
cile myself  to  the  inevitable  separations  of  life  and 
death.  I  know  that  I  feel  more  completely  in  sym- 
pathy with  those  who  went  away  from  me  into 
heaven  long  ago  than  I  did  when  they  were  here. 
Still  I  love  and  long  for  my  friends,  and  would 
gladly  see  them  while  they  are  here,  in  the  dear 
familiar  way. 

I  have  accustomed  myself  to  the  thought  that 
my  call  hence  may  come  suddenly,  and  if  I  should 
not  meet  you  again  here,  you  will  know  that  in 
any  world  I  shall  look  for  you  near  the  Master  and 
Friend  in  whose  presence  you  live  here,  and  whose 
love  you  have  helped  me  to  see  as  the  one  thing 
worth  living  for  anywhere.  I  can  truly  say  that 
the  last  ten  years  of  my  life  have  been  better  and 
happier  than  all  that  went  before. 

Faithfully  yours,  L.  L. 


LAST    YEARS.  287 

February  20,  1893.  A  strange  mingled  expe- 
rience the  last  three  or  four  months.  Weeks  o£  ill- 
ness in  the  late  autumn  in  Beverly,  when  I  sud- 
denly was  brought  to  the  knowledge  that  I  have 
an  incurable  disease  of  the  heart,  which  had  been 
aggravated  by  overwork  and  neglect.  In  the  en- 
forced quiet,  I  could  only  think,  and  that  was  not 
permitted  about  disturbing  things.  Then,  a  little 
recovered,  I  came  to  Boston  just  before  Christmas, 
and  used  my  strength  too  rapidly,  so  that  now  I 
have  been  in  my  room  under  the  doctor's  care,  for 
over  a  month.  And  since  I  have  lain  here,  a  great 
calamity  has  befallen.  The  noblest  of  men  and 
friends  has  left  the  world,  —  Phillips  Brooks.  One 
month  ago  this  morning  he  breathed  his  last.  He, 
with  whom  it  was  impossible  to  associate  the  idea 
of  death  ;  —  was  ?  —  is  so,  still !  —  the  most  living 
man  I  ever  knew  —  physically,  mentally,  spiritu- 
ally. It  is  almost  like  taking  the  sun  out  of  the 
sky.  He  was  such  an  illumination,  such  a  warmth, 
such  an  inspiration !  And  he  let  us  all  come  so 
near  him,  —  just  as  Christ  does ! 

I  felt  that  I  knew  Christ  personally  through 
him.  He  always  spoke  of  Him  as  his  dearest 
friend,  and  he  always  lived  in  perfect,  loving  alle- 
giance to  God  in  Him.  Now  I  know  him  as  I  know 
Christ,  —  as  a  spirit  only,  and  his  sudden  with- 
drawal is  only  an  ascension  to  Him,  in  the  immor- 
tal life.  Shut  into  my  sick-room,  I  have  seen  none 
of  the  gloom  of  the  burial ;  I  know  him  alive,  with 
Christ,  from  the  dead,  forevermore.     Where  he  is, 


288  LUCY  LARCOM. 

life  must  be.  He  lived  only  in  realities  here,  and 
he  is  entering  into  the  heart  of  them  now.  "  What 
a  new  splendor  in  heaven  !  "  was  my  first  thought 
of  him,  after  one  natural  burst  of  sorrow.  What 
great  services  he  has  found  !  How  gloriously  life, 
with  its  immortal  opportunities,  must  be  opening 
to  him  !  He,  —  one  week  here,  —  the  next  there,  -— 
and  seen  no  more  here  again.  The  very  sudden- 
ness of  his  going  makes  the  other  life  seem  the  real 
one,  rather  than  this.  And  a  man  like  this  is  the 
best  proof  God  ever  gives  human  beings  of  their 
own  immortality. 

I  treasure  my  last  memories  of  him,  the  last  ser 
mon  I  heard  him  preach  at  Trinity,  at  the  October 
Communion;  the  last  time  I  saw  him  there,  just 
before  Christmas,  and  the  last  warm  pressure  of  his 
hand,  and  the  sunlike  smile  as  he  spoke  to  me  at 
the  church  door ;  the  last  note  he  wrote  me  when 
he  spoke  of  Mr.  Whittier  in  the  other  life,  with 
such  reverent  love  :  "  Think  what  —  where  —  he  is 
now !  "  —  even  as  we  are  thinking  of  him.  It  seems 
as  if  God  gave  me  these  last  three  years  of  intimate 
friendship  with  him,  in  connection  with  the  Church, 
as  the  crowning  spiritual  blessing  of  my  life.  The 
rest  of  it  must  be  consecrated  to  the  noblest  ends, 
like  his. 

In  March  and  early  April,  1893,  Miss  Larcom's 
heart-trouble  was  rapidly  developing  into  an  alarm- 
ing condition,  and  she  realized  that  the  end  must 
soon  come.     Her  life  had  reached  its  climax  in  the 


LAST   YEARS.  289 

little  book,  "  The  Unseen  Friend,"  in  which  she  had 
written  her  last  and  greatest  religious  message  to 
the  world.  More  of  her  friends  were  on  the  "  other 
side  "  than  here,  and  her  eyes  eagerly  sought  the 
visions  beyond. 

Her  old  pupils  and  friends  remembered  her  dur= 
ing  those  weary  days  of  suffering  in  the  Hoffman 
House,  Boston.  Her  beloved  niece,  Miss  Lucy 
Larcom  Spaulding  (now  Mrs.  Clark)  was  with  her 
constantly,  ministeinng  to  her  needs.  Some  sent 
her  flowers,  which  she  loved  so  dearly;  others, 
fruit ;  one  desired  to  send  from  the  West  a  luxuri- 
ous bed  ;  and  one  sent  a  reclining-chair.  The  old 
cook,  Norah,  at  Norton,  asked  the  privilege  of 
making  graham  bread  for  her.  Her  old  scholars 
remembered  her  more  substantially,  by  a  loving 
gift,  in  those  days  when  her  pen  was  forced  into 
idleness.  She  painfully  felt  the  restraints  of  her 
illness.  Her  nights  were  full  of  distress.  In  a 
half-amused  way,  she  said,  "  I  never  knew  what  it 
was  to  be  really  sick.  I  knew  people  had  to  stay 
in  bed,  and  have  the  doctor,  but  I  thought  they 
slept  at  night." 

The  end  drew  near.  On  Saturday  evening, 
April  the  fifteenth,  she  said  it  would  be  a  great  joy 
to  exchange  the  physical  for  the  spiritual  body; 
and  she  was  comforted  by  reading  Bishop  Brooks's 
addresses,  "  Perfect  Freedom." 

On  Monday,  April  the  seventeenth,  she  grew 
rapidly  worse ;  and  in  her  unconsciousness,  she  fre- 
quently murmured  in  prayer,  the  word  "  Freedom." 


290  LUCY    LABCOM. 

Ou  this  day  her  soul  was  released,  and  she  entered 
into  the  fullness  of  the  Glory  of  God. 

On  a  little  slip  of  paper  she  had  written  these 
last  words :  — 

"  O  Mariner-soul, 

Thy  quest  is  but  begun, 
There  are  new  worlds 
Forever  to  be  won." 

She  was  borne  lovingly  to  Trinity  Church,  where 
she  had  worshiped  ;  and  there,  in  the  presence  of 
her  sorrowing  friends,  the  service  was  held.  There 
was  also  a  service  in  St.  Peter's  Church,  Beverly, 
where  her  fellow-townsmen  gathered  to  do  her  this 
last  honor.  She  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  soil  of  her 
native  town,  within  sight  and  sound  of  the  sea. 


INDEX. 


Abraham,  Mount,  72. 

Adirondacks,  237. 

Advertiser,  Boston  Daily,  182. 

Alden,  John,  97. 

Aldrich,  T.  B.,  84. 

Alps,  84,  122,  168. 

"  American  Women  of  Note,"  239. 

Amesbury,  98,  134,  146,  170. 

Anderson,  Hans,  176. 

Andover,  145,  219. 

Andrew,  Governor,  111. 

Androscoggin,  227. 

Anglo-Saxon  Poetry,  49. 

Annapolis,  224. 

Appledore,  16G. 

Appleton,  Nathan,  7. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  191. 

Arthur,  Prince,  131. 

Asquam,  Lake,  229. 

Atlantic  Monthly,  153,  189,  239. 

"  At  Her  Bedside,"  199. 

Attleboro',  122. 

"  At  the  Beautiful  Gate,"  173,  187. 

Bacon,  Francis,  91. 

Baker,  Mrs.  I.  W.,  32;  letter  to,  38; 

living  with,  44. 
Barrett,  Lois,  1. 
Bass  River,  2. 
Beaufort,  S.  C,  112. 
Berkshire  Hills,  237. 
Berlin  Falls,  188,  227. 
Bermuda,  182. 
Bethel,  224,  227. 
Bethlehem,  227,  230. 
Betsy's,  Aunt,  cucumbers,  32. 
Beverly,  1,  2  ;  life  in,  43-46,  74,  113, 

115,  133,  144,  153, 1.56,  170 ;  division 

of,  246  ;  love  for,  252. 
Beverly  Farms,  1. 
Blanchard,  Dr.  Amos,  13. 
Blue,  Mount,  42. 
Bonnechose,  de.  118. 
Boston,  123,  125,  156, 172,  246  ;  troops 

in,  89;  Harbor,  115. 
Boston  Journal,  36. 
Bradford  Academy,  172. 
Bradford,  England,  190. 
"  Breathings  of  the  Better  Life,"  159. 


Brooks,  Rev.  Phillips,  185,  207,  209, 
225,  248,  252,  275 ;  letter  on  preacli- 
ing,  185  ;  friendship  for  Lucy  Lar- 
com,  186  ;  letter  on  Lord's  Supper, 
186  ;  preaching  of,  207  ;  preaches  on 
"  Old  Year,"  211  ;  preaches  about 
Heaven,  214 ;  letter  about  church- 
membership,  220  ;  letter  about  "The 
Little  Town  of  Bethlehem,"  232; 
letter,  241  ;  invites  all  to  Commu- 
nion, 244  ;  letter,  250  ;  at  Wheaton, 
265  ;  elected  Bishop,  268  ;  Consecra- 
tion of,  274  ;  death  of,  285. 

Brown,  J.  Appleton,  183. 

Brown  of  Ossawatomie,  81. 

Browning,  ISO,  278. 

Browning,  Mrs.,  159. 

Bushnell,  Horace,  159. 

Campton,  99,  152. 

Cape  Ann,  166,  180. 

Carlyle,  70. 

Carter,  Franklin,  153,  237  ;  letters  to, 
205,  281. 

Gary  Sisters,  The,  196. 

Centre  Harbor,  227,  230. 

Chadwick,  Rev.  J.  W.,  174. 

Chasles,  Philarete,  11. 

Chaucer's  Daisies,  167. 

Childs,  G.  W.,  234,  236. 

Childs,  Mrs.,  118. 

Childhood  Songs,  3,  176,  177. 

Child-Life,  3,  176,  177. 

Christian  Union,  233,  285. 

Clougb,  Arthur,  258. 

Coleridge,  5,  54. 

Congregational  Church,  55,  190,  201, 
207,  242 ;  administration  of  Com- 
munion in,  245. 

Congregationalist,  The,  233. 

Contrabands,  154. 

Conybeare,  and  Howson,  Life  of  St. 
Paul,  116. 

Cook,  Mrs.,  196. 

Corinth,  144. 

Cottage  Hearth,  The,  233. 

Cousin,  70. 

Crayon,  The,  63. 

Crosweil,  Dr.,  poems,  81. 


292 


INDEX. 


Curtiss,  Hariot,  10. 
Cushman,  Miss,  149. 

Davis,  Jepp,  102 ;  capture  of,  157. 

Dickens,  Charles,  8. 

Dickinson,  Emily,  285. 

Digby,  224. 

District  of  Columbia,  slavery  in,  139. 

Dodge,  Mrs.  Mary  Mapes,  177-178- 

Donelson,  Fort,  124. 

Durand,  John,  65  ;  letter  to,  66. 

Easter  Gleams,  187. 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  93. 
Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  125,  178,  278 ; 

"  Parnassus,"  l.SG. 
England,   117,   190 ;    against  slavery, 

110. 
Episcopal  Church,    11,   81,    187,  207, 

209,  220,  243,  249,  284  ;  criticism  of, 

254-256  ;  little  side  of,  272. 
Essex  County,  1,  193. 
Evangeline,  223. 

Farley,  Hariett,  10. 

Farrar,  Canon,  226. 

Fichte,  128. 

Fields,  James  T.,  letter  to,  148,  153, 

159. 
Fields,  Mrs.  James  T.,  149  ;  letters  to, 

155,  160,  163,  178 ;  books  loaned  by, 

156. 
Fitch,  Mrs.,  224. 
Florida,  130. 

Fobes,Miss  P., 38;  letters to,46, 47, 282. 
Forrester,  Fanny,  175. 
Fox,  George,  journal  of,  97,  106. 
Frauconia  Notch,  100,  151. 
Freeman,  Miss,  247. 
Fremont,  111. 
French  Acadians,  224. 

Gannett's,  Dr.,  school,  172. 

Gardiner,  Maine,  71. 

Garfield,  Mrs.,  210. 

Garfield,  President,  191 ;  assassination 

of,  210. 
Garrison,  W.  L.,  14. 
Gaspereau,  223. 
Gethsemane,  137. 
Gibbon,  118. 
Godfrey,  Captain  B.,  37. 
"  Golden-Rod,"  191. 
Gordon,  Rev.  Mr.,  267. 
Grand  Pri5,  223. 
Great  Britain,  166. 
Greenough,  Mrs.,  186. 
Greenwood,  Grace,  175. 
Guild,  Mrs.,  236,  276. 
Gulliver's  Travels,  5. 
Guyon,  Madame,  159. 

"  Hail  Columbia,"  139. 
Halifax,  224. 


Hamilton,  Gail,  157. 

Hammond,  Wiscoiitiin,  155. 

"  Hand  in  Hand  with  Angels,"  173. 

Hannah,  Aunt,  4. 

"  Hannah  Binding  Shoes,"  63,  173, 
179  ;  set  to  music,  65. 

Hare's  "Mission  of  the  Comforter," 
54. 

Harper's  Magazine,  183,  233. 

HaskeU,  Mrs.  Abby  O.,  29  ;  letter  to, 
42. 

Hatteras,  Fort,  102. 

Hawthorne's  "  Little  Annie's  Ram- 
ble," 17G. 

"  Heart  of  God,"  The,  189. 

Hegel,  128. 

Herbert,  George,  79,  159. 

Higginson,  Mr.,  197. 

"  Hilary,"  153,  173. 

Hindoo,  112. 

Hopkins,  Dr.  Mirk,  281. 

Horder,  Rev.  W.  Garrett,  190,  196. 

Horticultural  Association,  152. 

Howells,  W.  D.,  189,  230. 

Huraiston,  Esther  S.,  54,  103,  135; 
letters  to,  54,  75  ;  dying,  91  ;  death, 
92;  grave  of,  136;  letters  of,  138; 
mother  of,  142,  152. 

Hunter,  Dr.  John,  197. 

"  Idyl  op  Work,"  179,  190. 

"  Immortal  Now,"  The,  285. 

Independent,  The,  233. 

Ingelow,  Jean,  174  ;  letter  to,  165. 

Ipswich,  1  ;  Academy  of,  172. 

Isles  of  Shoals,  166. 

Italy,  S3,  108. 

Jackson,  H.  H.,  196. 
Jameson's,   Mrs.,    "  Legends    of    the 
Madonna,"  79. 

Kant,  128. 
Keble,  209,  215. 
Kennebec  River,  74. 
Keoppen,  83. 

Knickerbocker,  The,  63 ;  letter  to, 
04. 

Lamb's  "  Dream  Children,"  176. 

Larcom,  Mrs.,  G,  262  ;  boarding-house 
of,  8  ;  death  of,  171. 

Larcom,  Benjamin,  1. 

Larcom,  Cornelias,  1. 

Larcom,  David,  1. 

Larcom,  Jonathan,  1. 

Larcom,  Lucy,  birth,  1 ;  at  school,  4 ; 
love  for  hymns,  5 ;  books  she  read, 
9  ;  writes  for  manuscript  papers,  9 ; 
working  in  Lowell  mills,  11  ;  early 
religious  ideas,  12  ;  signs  petition  to 
Congress,  14 ;  meets  Mr.  Whittier, 
15 ;  book-keeper  in  Lawrence  Mills, 
15 ;   writing  in  prose   sketch-book, 


INDEX. 


293 


16  ;  writing  poetry,  IT ;  goes  to 
Illinois,  18  ;  diary  of  journey,  21-27  ; 
in  M.iryland,  23  ;  At  Pittsburg,  25  ; 
at  St.  Louis,  2G ;  lives  ou  Looking- 
glass  Prairie,  27  ;  hardships  in 
school-teaching,  28  ;  letters  to  sis- 
ters, Abby  and  Lydia,  29  ;  examined 
for  position  as  teacher,  31  ;  sick 
with  "  agey,"  33  ;  enters  Monticello, 
38 ;  life  at  Monticello,  39-43  ;  de- 
bating society,  40 ;  compositions, 
41  ;  engagement,  43 ;  teaching  in 
Beverly,  44-4G  ;  enters  Wheaton 
Seminary,  4G-47  -,  room  at  Norton, 
48 ;  lore  for  flowers,  48 ;  knitting 
stockings  for  soldiers,  49  -,  power  as 
a  teacher,  49-53  ;  lecture  ou  Anglo- 
Saxon  Poetry,  49 ;  lecture  on  com- 
positions, 50  ;  in  tlie  class-room,  50  ; 
founding  t!ie  "  Rushlight,"  and 
Psyolie  Literary  Society,  50-51 ; 
called  "  Mother  Larcom,"  51  ;  letter 
on  deatli,  52  ;  girPs  love  affairs,  52; 
scholar's  love  for  her,  52;  friend- 
ship for  Miss  Homiston,  54-57  ;  ideas 
about  churcli-membership,  and  doc- 
trines, 55-57  ;  leaves  Norton,  57  ; 
reasons  for  not  marrying,  57-59; 
publishes  "Similitudes,"  Gl  ;  wins 
Kansas  prize  song,  62 ;  publishes 
Lottie's  Tliought-book,  C2 ;  prints 
"Hannah  Binding  Shoes,"  63; 
writes  to  New  York  Tribune,  64  ;  let- 
ter to  John  Duraud,  65 ;  unsuccessful 
attempt  to  print  a  volume  of  verse, 
66;  submits  verses  to  Mr.  Whittier 
for  criticism,  68 ;  diary,  69-147 ; 
thoughts  on  nij'stics,  70 ;  thoughts 
on  "  T?he  Sabbatli,"  74  ;  reasons  for 
keeping  a  diary,  70  ;  remarks  on 
ministers,  7(>-77  ;  reads  "  Wilhelm 
Meister,"78;  depression  of  spirits, 
84 ;  thoughts  on  eternal  life  and 
death,  85  ;  gifts  on  her  birthday,  86 ; 
unpleasant  sermon  on  Satan,  88 ; 
remarks  on  friendship,  93 ;  visits 
the  Webster  plnce,  9<') ;  visits  Ply- 
mouth, 96  ;  visits  the  Wliittiers,-98  ; 
love  for  mountains,  100;  on  the 
Rebellion,  101  ;  concerning  her 
diary,  103  ;  concerning  gos.sip,  110  ; 
on  child's  knowledge  of  the  Bible, 
120  ;  sleigh-ride  to  Attlehoro',  122  ; 
on  Sarah  Palne's  deatli,  123  ;  lienrs 
Emerson,  125;  education  of  nieces, 
127  ;  religions  talks  witli  scholars, 
120;  introspection,  132;  tlioughts 
on  the  resurrection,  133  ;  love  for 
the  Whittieni,  135;  singing  around 

Liberty  Pole,  139  ;  prays  for  C , 

140;    skeptical,   141;    school   trials, 

141;    deatli   of  C ,    144;    visits 

Andorer,  145 ;  letter  to  Mr.  Field.s, 
enclosing    poem,     149 ;     letter    to 


Whittier  about  Hie  mountains,  150; 
gives  up  teaching  at  Wheaton,  152  ; 
home  in  Waterbury,  152  ;  writes  for 
the  Atlantic,  153  ;  letter  about  death 
of  her  sister  Louisa,  155 ;  edits 
"  Our  Young  Folks,"  157  ;  publishes 
"Breatliings  of  the  Better  Life," 
159  ;  letters  to  Mrs.  James  T.  Fields, 
1.59-163;  letter  to  Mrs.  Thaxter, 
163 ;  letter  to  Miss  Ingelow,  165 ; 
letter  to  Mr.  Whittier  about  her 
mother's  illness,  170  ;  publislies 
"  Poems,"  173;  name  of,  175  ;  work 
with  Mr.  Whittier,  175  ;  letters  to 
Mrs.  Dodge,  177;  publishes  "An 
Idyl  of  Work,"  179  ;  prints  "  Road- 
side Poems,"  180  ;  letter  on  Romans, 
181 ;  visits  Bermuda,  182 ;  prints 
"Landscai>e  in  American  Poetry,''' 
183;  letter  to  Mrs.  Wheaton,  183; 
present  at  breakfast  to  Dr.  Holmes, 
1S4  ;  first  meeting  witli  Phillips 
Brooks,  185  ;  prints  "  Wild  Roses  of 
Cape  Ann,"  187;  letter  to  Mn 
Pickard,  188 ;  criticism  of  her 
poetry,  189-198;  letter  to  Dr. 
Hunter,  197  ;  religious  changes,  200; 
letter  to  Franklin  Carter,  205  ;  learns 
to  know  the  Episcopal  Chuicli, 
107-120  ;  opinion  of  faith-cure,  212  ; 
reads  Renau,  216  ;  letter  from  Nova 
Scotia,  223 ;  letter  to  Phillips 
Brooks,  225;  summer  homes  of,  227; 
on  Tlie3soi>liy,  231  ;  conversation 
with  Mr.  Whittier  about  finances, 
233;  visits  President  Carter,  2.37; 
prints  "  A  New  England  Girlhood," 
238  ;  communes  at  Trinity  Churcli, 
244  ;  confirmed,  252  ;  converses  witli 
Mr.  Brooks,  269-270;  iHness  of, 
280-281  ;  letter  to  Miss  Fobes,  282  ; 
last  letter  to  Phillips  Brooks,  285; 
on  the  death  of  Mr.  Brooks,  287; 
death  of,  289  ;  burial  of,  290. 

Larcom,  Mordecai,  1. 

Lavater,  119. 

Lawrence  Mills,  15. 

Lazarus,  Enuna,  259. 
!  Lebanon,  31. 

Lee,  surrender  of,  156. 

Leigh,  Miss,  247. 

Liberty  Pole,  139. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  191  ;  assassination 
of,  1.56. 

Longfellow,  H.  W.,  80,  166,  179,  180, 
I      196 ;   letter   to   Miss  Larcom,  198 ; 
death  of,  220. 

Longfellow,  Rev.  Samuel,  65. 

Lowell,  mills  in,  6 ;  lyceum  of,  8 ; 
poem  on,  179 ;  article  in  Atlantic 
Monthly  on,  239. 

Lowell,  Francis  Cabot,  7. 

Lowell,  J.  K.,  ISO. 
.  Lowell,  Maria,  196. 


294 


INDEX. 


Lowell  Offering,  10. 

"  Loyal  Woman's  No,"  58,  153. 

Maine,  226. 

Mainteuon,  Madame  de,  93. 

Manassas,  130. 

Mansel,  Dean,  75. 

Martineau,  Dr.,  196. 

Mason  and  Slidell,  115. 

Maurice,  70,  75,  70,  209,  294,  293,  265. 

Maury's  Physical  Geography,  91. 

Melrose,  219. 

Memphis,  144. 

Merrimae,  99,  101,  130,  139;  sinking 

of,  154. 
Middlesex  Standard,  15. 
Milton,  194,  259. 
Milton  Hills,  109. 
Mississippi,  1G7. 
Missouri,  124. 
"  Monitor,"  130. 

Monticello,  238, 283  ;  prospectus  of,  37. 
Moosilauke,  227,  263,  272,  277. 
Morris'  Poexns,  75. 
Moultrie,  Fort,  81. 
Miiller,  Max,  210. 
"  My  Mountain,"  192. 
Myrtle,  Minnie,  175. 

Neandeb's  "  History  of  the  Church," 

116,  118,  218. 
Neck-woods,  123. 
Newburyport,  179. 
New  England  Emigrant  Aid  Co.,  62. 
"  New  England  Girlhood,"  2,  238,  250. 
New  Hampshire,  105,  168,  226. 
New  York  Tribune,  The,  63,  64. 
Norfolk,  130,  139. 
North  Carolina,  124. 
Norton,  Mass.,  53,   57,  105,  115,  153, 

172,  183. 
Notch  Mountains,  151,  168,  227. 
Nova  Scotia,  224. 

Olivet,  137. 

"  On  the  Beach,"  191. 

Operatives'  Magazine,  10. 

Osgood  &  Co.,  179. 

Ossipee  Park,  227,  230,  279. 

"Our  Christ,"  190. 

Our  Young  Folks,  3,  157,  172,  176. 

Paine,  Sarah,  123. 
Park,  Professor,  145. 
Parker,  Theodore,  71. 
Passion  Week,  243,  266. 
Paula,  93. 
Pembroke,  98. 
Pemigewasset,  99,  168. 
Pilgrims,  80,  165,  167. 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  5. 
Pitman,  Harriet,  171,  178. 
"  Pliebe,"  189. 
Phelps,  Prof.,  145. 


Pliillips,  Adelaide,  65. 

Plato,    119,    297,    236;    reading,  54; 

teaching,  118. 
Plymouth,  96. 
"Poems,"  173,  174. 
Portland  Trauscrii)t,  227. 
Potomac,  111. 
Prairie  sleigh-ride,  A,  36. 
Psyche  Literary  Society,  50. 
Puritans,  107,  113,  201,  150. 

Quaker,  97,  135 ;  worship  of,  98 ;  con. 

trast  witli  Puritan,  107. 
Quaker  Home,  234. 

Readviile,  109. 

Renan,  216. 

Ricliter,  Jean  Paul,  16. 

"  Roadside  Poems,"  180. 

Robertson,  F.  W.,  138,  159,  160,  203, 

209,  266. 
"  Rose  Entlironed,"  The,  154,  192. 
Rossetti,  W.  M..  197. 
Ruslilight,  The,  50. 
Ruskin,  75. 
Russell,  John,  227. 

"  Sabbath  Bells,"  15. 

Saddle-back,  72. 

Schelling,  128. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  5. 

Sears'  "  Foregleams  and  Foreshad- 
ows," 54. 

Shakespeare,  118,  149,  194. 

"  Shared,"  189. 

Shelley,  180. 

"Similitudes,"  61. 

"Skipper  Ben,"  65,  173. 

Smitli,  John  Cotton,  215. 

Spalding,  Mrs.  S.  I.,  179,  230;  letters 
to,  181,  187,  193,  240,  250,  271. 

Spaulding,  George,  33,  36. 

Spaulding,  Lucy  Larcom,  289. 

Spenser,  5,  191. 

Socrates,  217. 

Solis-Cohen,  Dr.  S.,  260. 

"  Songs  of  Three  Centuries,"  259,  279. 

South  Carolina,  81. 

Southey,  5. 

St.  Ann's  Church,  Lowell,  14,  207. 

St.  Nicliolas,  3,  157,  177,  178,  233. 

St.  Peter's  Churcli,  Beverly,  290. 

Standish,  Miles,  97. 

Stanley,  Aunt,  4. 

Stedman,  Mr.,  93. 

Stephen,  Sir  James,  118. 

Stone,  Dr.,  215. 

Stone,  Lucy,  46. 

Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher,  14& 

Stowe,  Prof.,  145. 

Sumatra,  133. 

Sumner,  Charles,  108. 

Swedenborg,  54,  119. 

Switzerland,  168. 


INDEX. 


295 


Tauler's  Sermons,  54. 

Tauuton,  90. 

Tennyson,  278. 

Thanksgiving,  A,  174,  194. 

Thaxter,  Mrs.  Celia,  1G3. 

Thayer,  Prof.,  178. 

"The  Chamber  Called  Peace,"  173. 

Tholuck,  159. 

Thomas,  Rev.  Abel  C,  10. 

Thorndike,  Colonel,  2. 

Trinity  Church,  207,  226,  252;  free 
seats  in,  208;  services  at,  209 ;  pass- 
ing of  old  year  at,  211. 

Trowbridge,  157. 

Unitaeianism,  112,  215. 
Universalists,  56. 
Unseen  Friend,  The,  283. 
"Unwedded,"59. 

Vincent,  Henby,  179. 

Walker's  Rhyming  Dictionary,  18. 

Wallace  Lane,  2. 

Wallis,  Becky,  32. 

Ward,  Susan  Hayes,  238  ;  letters  to, 

53,  222. 
Waterbury,  Conn.,  54,  152. 
Waterville,  100. 
Webster,  Daniel,  96. 
Wellesley  College,  247. 
Wheaton,  Judge,  46. 
Wheaton,  Mrs.  E.  B.,  183. 
Wheaton  Seminary,  46,  152,  172,  238, 

2C5. 


White  Face,  192. 

White  Mountains,  168. 

White,  Richard  Grant,  197. 

White,  Sunday,  A,  174. 

Whitney,  Mrs.  A.  D.  T.,  184,  239. 

Whittier,  Elizabeth,  15,  67,  80,  98,  137, 
151,  154,  191. 

Whittier,  John  G.,  66,  98,  131,  163, 
179,  185,  232 ;  first  meeting  with 
Miss  Larcom,  15 ;  friendship  for 
Miss  Larcom,  66 ;  letter  to  Lucy 
Larcom,  07;  "Home  Ballads,"  80  ; 
"  Panorama,"  SO ;  letters  to,  150, 
170,  180,  223,  230,  275,  276  ;  rhymed 
note  of,  161  ;  at  Isies  of  Shoals,  166 ; 
collaboration  vvitli  Miss  Larcom, 
175 ;  letter  to  Lucy  Larcom,  176  ; 
criticism  of  her  poetry,  193 ;  letter 
to  O.  W.  Holmes,  198  ;  visit  of,  218  ; 
poem,  "Wood-Giant,"  230;  on 
Bishop  Brooks,  271 ;  death  of,  277. 

Wide  Awake,  233. 

Wilberforce,  Canon,  247. 

"Wild  Roses  of  Cape  Ann,"  187, 
188. 

Williams  College,  153,  205. 

Williauibtown,  237. 

Winnipiseogee,  98,  168. 

Winter,  William,  185. 

Wolfboro',  229. 

Woodberry,  George  E.,  257,  258. 


Year  in  Heaven,  A,  173* 
Youth's  Companion,  3. 


^7  )    8      DATE  DUE 

FEB  1 

2  1980 

MAR  ; 

.  8  1980 

AC 

Don    1^80 

Ar 

RtCO  J^J'* 

GAYLORD 

PRINTED  IN  U.S.A. 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000  301842 


